The Trade
by emjay79
Summary: When three Hogwarts students art taken Prisoner by the Dark Lord, Minerva McGonagall makes an unxepected trade for their safe return...herself! I am rating it M to be safe
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: This is my first attempt at a MMAD story

**Author's note:** This is my first attempt at a MMAD story. If you strongly feel that this pairing is not probable or is disgusting or if it excites any other negative feelings within you, you will not like this story, so please do not bother with it. Also it gets rather dark and a little disturbing around ch 6 and onward. That being said, I really hope you enjoy it, and I hope that you will review and let me know what you like or dislike! Thanks for reading!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Harry Potter or any of the fabulous characters or events in any of the books or films and the only profit I receive is many blissful hours of enjoyment. Thank you JKR!

Waiting, Chapter 1

Three of them were gone. Three Hogwarts students at his mercy. They had not returned from today's visit from Hogsmeade, and there was only one explanation. Only one.

Collin Creavey, Zephaniah Smith, and Sarah Jamison. Two of her Gryffindors and a first year Hufflepuff. The greenish glow of the dark mark was slowly dissipating in the evening mist and breezes over Hogsmeade.

She could see it from the office window, where her pacing was quickly wearing a hole in the red and gold carpet upon which she trod.

She hated waiting. Her duties were done for the moment, and the idleness was driving her mind mad and causing her stomach to reel. Gods, she wished he were back. She had ordered the students to remain in their common rooms after dinner, and she had briefly addressed her Gryffindors and then she and Pomona had broken the news to the Hufflepuffs together. She had sent urgent letters to the families of the three missing children and now all that was left was the waiting.

Albus had left immediately for an emergency meeting with the school governors and the Minister, and then onto Grimmauld Place to discuss a course of action with the Order. She had been left behind to see to the children and any Hogwarts emergencies that might arise. She hated that she missed out on so many Order meetings, but Albus had made it clear that her number one function was the school and the safety of its students. And their safety _was_ her priority. But that didn't stop her from feeling helplessly in the dark in these situations.

He would kill them: of that much she was certain. They were muggle-borns, and he would make an example. Open warfare had been declared.

Her heart was with these families. They had sent their children into a world in which they could not take part, a world they didn't and couldn't understand. And now their children were suffering as casualties of a war and a monster they knew nothing about.

So deep in thought was she that she jumped with a start when, with a little 'pop', Albus Dumbledore stepped out of her fireplace.

"I'm sorry, Minerva," he said, dusting off his purple and silver robes, "I did not mean to startle you."

As she looked at him, her heart sank lower, as the tears in his eyes confirmed her worst fears. "Oh Albus! It's true then, they are dead?"

"No, my dear. Not yet. But I am afraid they are lost," he said gently. Albus Dumbledore had seldom felt so old, and utterly defeated. He sat wearily down in one of the armchairs nearest the fire and conjured two cups of tea with a flick of his wand. Minerva silently took the proffered cup and held it between her icy, shaking hands. She sat slowly down in the chair facing him, and waited for him to begin.


	2. Chapter 2 Telling

Author's note: This is my first attempt at a MMAD story

Telling, Chapter 2

"The meeting with the Governors went as well as could be expected. Of course, Lucius Malfoy demanded that the school be closed and I, removed from being Headmaster at the very least, but the others agreed unanimously that Hogwarts is still the safest and most guardable site for the children, what with all of the disappearances all over the place. So, the school will remain open, the Ministry will further heighten its security around the grounds, and I shall remain as Headmaster. I am afraid, my dear Minerva, that you will have to wait a bit longer for a promotion." His eyes regained some of their merriment at this last statement. "We shall, of course, cancel all future excursions into Hogsmeade for the time being."

Minerva nodded silently and he continued. "The meeting with the Order, I'm afraid, went less smoothly. Severus arrived sometime into it, and confirmed that the three children are indeed alive, but that the situation is not hopeful. They are being saved for a round of initiation for new Death Eaters. According to Severus, there is a ceremony being planned for Halloween night. Those being inducted will perform the Unforgivable curses and finally execute them at midnight to prove their ability and worthiness." She detected a slight acidity in his voice as he pronounced "worthiness". It would have been imperceptible to any other listener.

"Halloween is in seven days, Albus. What did the Order decide to do about finding the children and getting them out of there?" She struggled to keep control in her voice. The thought of children—mere children, being subjected to that kind of torture and death was more than she could bear.

His eyes raised slowly to meet hers. "I am afraid, Minerva, that there is very little to be done." She gasped in horror and he raised a hand to silence her tirade so that he could continue. "We will be looking for them, Minerva. We will do everything we can. But we don't know where Voldemort is keeping them. And we can not risk Severus being discovered by trying to come to their aid."

"But Albus, you can't mean that we will just leave them—"

"No. We will do everything in our power. But I must be honest with you, it looks bleak." Hot, angry tears were spilling over her cheeks. He got up and knelt beside her, but she would not allow him to pull her into his embrace.

"Albus, a week, surely in a week's time, Moody and the others—surely they will think of something, we _have_ to find them, Albus, we have to—"

She finally gave into his comforting arms. "We are doing everything we can, Min, everything we can," he whispered as he stroked her hair and rocked her gently.


	3. Chapter 3 Decisions

Author's note: This is my first attempt at a MMAD story

Decisions, Chapter 3

Albus Dumbledore looked down upon his sleeping Deputy. He knew that this was as hard on her as anyone, perhaps harder. The students may find her strict and unyielding, but Albus knew that there was no fiercer protector of the school's young charges, and that she loved each and every one of them deeply.

He left her in the chair, regretting the sore neck she would undoubtedly have tomorrow, but fearing that if he woke her by moving her to a more comfortable bed that she would never fall back asleep. He silently closed the door to her rooms and returned to his own quarters to prepare for the many addresses and meetings that would no doubt come with the fast approaching morning light.

As soon as she heard the click of the door closing, Minerva McGonagall snapped to alertness. She hadn't wanted to further worry Albus, and knew that he would remain with her as long as he felt her in need, so she had feigned sleep. Now that he was gone, she needed to think this through. An idea had been forming in the back of her mind, ever since Albus had relayed Severus's information about the initiation ceremony and the unlikely-hood of finding the children in time to save them. She couldn't let any more harm come to her students. She couldn't, and she _wouldn't_.

She would have to execute this carefully, to avoid Albus finding out. He would never allow it, and would be furious with her for even considering. And yet, she knew He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would accept her offer. She knew him better than anyone else in the order, how he thought, what motivated him, though she was not proud of her deeper knowledge of his character. She would do it. She would go through with it, though the thought horrified her. She had to do it. What difference did it make for her to live, if the thoughts of the tortured, screaming boys and little girl haunted her for the rest of her days?

"Dobby?" She called.

With a crack Dobby appeared in front of her, bowing low. "Yes, Missus Deputy, ma'am?"

"Dobby, you used to serve the Malfoy family, correct?"

"Yes Missus Deputy, and they is an awful sort—treated Dobby very mean, they did."

"Dobby, I need you to do me a tremendous favor." Dobby pulled himself up proudly, positively beaming that the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts would ask a personal favor of him.

"Dobby is at your service, he is pleased to do things for Harry Potter and Professor Dumbledore, and for you, Missus Deputy."

"I need you to go to Malfoy Manor and ask Lucius Malfoy to come and see me in my office at once. It is very important."

Dobby looked aghast. "Missus Deputy, you don't want a Malfoy to come to see you, they is nasty, they is cruel, they is—"

"It is very important, nonetheless, Dobby that I see him immediately. It is important business to keep Hogwarts safe from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Then Dobby will do it. Dobby has vowed to help Harry Potter in the fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Thank you, Dobby. Now this must be kept completely secret. No one must know about this meeting, not even Harry or the Headmaster. It is for their safety. Do you understand?"

"Yes Missus Deputy. Dobby will do anything to keep Harry Potter safe."

"I trust you can get Mr. Malfoy into the castle unseen?"

"Yes Missus Deputy."

"Good, then go right away. Wake him if you must. But remember, no one must know."

"You can count on Dobby, Missus Deputy!" He said proudly, and disappeared with a crack.

Minerva walked to the window and looked out into the night. The dark mark could no longer be seen, only a faint greenish glow over Hogsmeade. Now that the plan had been put in motion, she prayed desperately for the courage to carry it out.


	4. Chapter 4 The Offer

The Offer, chapter 4

It was not quite time for breakfast when a disgruntled Lucius Malfoy appeared with a 'crack' along side Dobby, still in his dressing gown.

"The elf" he said with a dripping disdain worthy of Severus Snape, "said that you wanted to see me, Minerva."

"Indeed. May I offer you some tea, a cup of coffee, perhaps?"

"Tea."

"Very well. Dobby, please fetch Mr. Malfoy and myself some tea and a bit of toast."

"Yes Missus Deputy!" and he vanished and reappeared momentarily with the requested tray of tea and toast.

"Thank you, Dobby. You are dismissed." The little elf was gone.

"And to think he used to answer to me," Malfoy muttered under his breath.

"Please sit down, Lucius." She gestured to a chair in front of her desk. She poured his tea and handed him the steaming cup. He had shaken his head 'no' at cream and sugar, and also declined the toast she offered. Under other circumstances she would have found this whole scene and his obvious discomfort very amusing.

"Minerva," he began, "I assume you have not asked me here to see you at this ungodly hour for a mere social call."

"No, you are correct. I have an offer to make to the Dark Lord, and I would like you to relay the message for me." She looked at him pointedly while sipping her tea.

"And what makes you believe I have any contact with the Dark Lord?" He was intrigued, and trying not to let it show.

"Come now, Lucius. Let us not play games. This is a serious matter at hand."

He cocked an eyebrow at her and with the mildest hint of curiosity, asked smoothly, "then what, pray tell, is this message you wish to relay?"

She got up from her chair and stood facing the window, her back to him. "I wish to make an offer of sorts, a bargain with V-Voldemort, in exchange for the safe return of my three students."

"And what are you offering in exchange?"

She hesitated only a moment. "Me."

"You?" He asked incredulously. Lucius Malfoy was truly shocked.

"If he will agree to return the children unharmed to the castle gates tonight, then I will turn myself over to him."

Malfoy stared dumbly at her, her back still turned to him. For once he was entirely at a loss for words. She continued, "I want the three children brought to the castle gate outside of Hogsmeade, unharmed—at precisely eight o'clock this evening. If they are safely returned, then at midnight tonight I will give myself up, unarmed at the same location." She turned to face him.

"And why should the Dark Lord believe that you will keep your bargain?"

"Because you have my word."

He laughed mockingly at her. "Your _word_, Minerva? The Dark Lord is no fool."

"I do not lie, Mr. Malfoy. Dishonesty is a trait that I abhor." She gave him a look so piercing he had to struggle not to squirm under her gaze. "I will use the elapsed time to ensure that the children are indeed safely within the castle walls and that no harm has befallen them. I cannot arouse suspicion by leaving before midnight. It is imperative that I not be seen."

"Am I to understand that Dumbledore knows nothing about this?"

"He would never allow it. No one knows anything but you and I. Will you relay my message?"

"I will see what I can do." He rose from his seat, placing the empty china cup on the tray.

"One other thing. You convey to him that I am not offering to fight for him. I surrender myself to him and whatever fate he may ascribe me, but I will never join him. Tell him he can send his answer via post with a simple "yes" or "no". You may use the floo from my office to return home. That will be all, Mr. Malfoy." She dismissed him with the same tone she used for unruly students.

He nodded. "Good day, Professor McGonagall." He bowed slightly and took a handful of floo powder from the jar she extended to him. "Malfoy Manor," he said as he stepped into the hearth. And he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5 Deal With the Devil

Deal With the Devil, Chapter 5

Lord Voldemort sat in silence as Lucius Malfoy recanted his tale about his strange meeting with Minerva McGonagall. As he finished, he noticed a strange smile twisting the grotesque features of the serpentine face.

"My Lord, the most ludicrous part is that she promises to give herself up four hours after you have returned the muggle-brats. I asked her how she could expect you to believe that she would actually follow through and she answered that she 'gave her word'. And then she proceeded to inform me, 'I do not lie, Mr. Malfoy. Dishonesty is a trait that I abhor.'"

At this the smile turned into an outright laugh. Malfoy stared at him, quite startled at his reaction. "She said that, did she? Yes of course she did. It sounds just like her."

Lucius Malfoy cleared his throat before continuing. "One more thing, my Lord. She said to tell you that it should be clear that while she offers herself as a prisoner, she will never 'join you' in your cause."

The smile disappeared, red eyes narrowing into slits. "Yes, that sounds like her, too." He conjured a scrap of parchment and a quill. "Wormtail!" he barked, and the snivelly little man emerged from the shadows he had been lurking in the corner of the room. "Send an owl to Professor McGonagall, and prepare the prisoners for departure."

"—But my Lord, the three mudbloods, we were planning to use them in the ceremony Saturday night—"

"Silence! Minerva McGonagall is worth a thousand others, wizard or muggle. You question me again, Wormtail, and I will let them practice the unforgivables on you, instead."

"Yes my Lord." The rat-like man bowed low, gravelling as the parchment was thrust at him.

"Lucius, you will deliver the children at eight o'clock. Nothing is to happen to them. I shall go and prepare our guest's accommodations. We do so want to make her stay a memorable one."

The answer arrived shortly after the noon meal. She was marking papers for her sixth-year Ravenclaws when the rap came at the window. It was not an owl, but an enormous raven, red eyes peering at her through the glass. As she opened the window and untied the parchment the bird nipped her hand, drawing blood bright against the porcelain skin. She jerked away startled, and the raven flew off, not waiting for the customary payment of a treat.

Closing the window she returned to her desk and shakily unfolded the parchment. She took a deep breath as if to somehow fortify her resolve, then cast her eyes downward to behold his reply and with it, her fate. A simple 'yes' was emblazoned in his bold, neat script just as she'd known it would be. Suddenly she leaned over and retched into the trash bin next to her desk.

She had made a deal with the devil.


	6. Chapter 6 The Trade

The Trade, Chapter 6

Minerva McGonagall sat next to the empty Headmaster's chair in the Great Hall, staring at her cooling supper. She had tried to force herself to eat, feeling that this might very well be her last meal. The last at Hogwarts she had no doubt. It both relieved and saddened her that Albus was absent. She wouldn't get to say goodbye, to hold and kiss him once more. Then again, she felt sure she would lose her nerve and stay in the safety of his arms forever. That she could not do.

It wasn't that she was so honorable that she hadn't thought of not showing up at midnight, that there was no need to sacrifice herself in this manner. She had entertained that thought for the most fleeting of moments and then just as quickly dismissed it. And not because of her honor or her damnable Scottish pride. If she went back on her word, the consequences would be severe. Voldemort would seek retaliation against her with a vengeance and more would die than the three students he held captive now. Of that she was certain, and she couldn't live with that.

Pomona Sprout laid a concerned hand upon hers and the surprising feel of her touch nearly made her jump out of her skin. Spilling her tea, she let out a startled cry. She flushed a deep crimson as she realized all eyes at the staff table and not a few of the students were on her.

"I'm sorry, Min. I didn't mean to startle you. Are you all right?" Pomona Sprout said apologetically as she helped Minerva mop up the puddle of tea with her napkin.

"Yes of course!" she exclaimed hastily. "I'm just not feeling all that well, and I'm afraid my mind had wandered." She was relieved when most everyone returned their attentions to their dinner plates.

Poppy Pomfrey, Pamona, and Severus were all still focused concernedly at her. "Minerva, if you aren't feeling well perhaps you should come up to the office," Poppy said.

"Oh no, Poppy, it's nothing really. I just didn't sleep last night, worrying about the children. I keep hoping Dumbledore will return from the Ministry with some hopeful report." This explanation seemed to convince them and they returned to their meals.

She tried hard to regain composure, and even forced a bit of roast and potatoes down her throat, where they lay in her stomach like leaden balls. She was thankful when dinner ended and she could return to her quarters. There was much she had yet to do in preparation for her departure.

At ten minutes after eight, when she didn't feel her nerves would remain in her body any longer, the waiting ended. Nymphadora Tonks's patronus appeared before her bearing the message that the three missing students had appeared via port key at the castle gates. Minerva then sent her own Patronus—a phoenix, to alert Madame Pomfrey and to ask Severus Snape and Hagrid to accompany her to the Hogsmeade gate. She joined them in the Great Hall and together they left to retrieve their young charges.

"Wonder why You-Know-Who let'em go? Summat doesn' seem right about it," Hagrid muttered, shaking his head, clearly puzzled.

"Minerva, I too feel this is some sort of trap." Severus spoke quietly. "The Dark Lord never gives up his victims."

"It very well may be a trap, Severus. Unless Albus has managed to get them out somehow," she lied, glad that neither man could look directly at her face.

"Be just like Perfesser Dumbledore, wouldn't it? If anybody could get'em out, it'd be him," Hagrid expressed his faith in Dumbledore so confidently that other under circumstances he may have convinced _her_ that Albus had indeed rescued them.

"There is something very wrong, Minerva, you mark my words. Very, very wrong," Severus stated more firmly.

"I agree, Severus. We will test them for both impersonation by polyjuice and for the Imperius curse before bringing them back and sending them to Madame Pomfrey."

At the gate, Nymphadora Tonks stood guard over the shivering trio. At the sight of their Transfiguration teacher they burst into tears. She knealt and held her arms out to them and they rushed into her embrace, nearly knocking her off balance.

"_**Professor McGonagall**_!" Severus reprimanded sharply, his wand drawn, "I understand you feel the need to comfort them but we need to test them first!"

"Proceed, Professor Snape," she answered calmly, but she kept a protective hand on the boys shoulders, little Sarah clinging desperately to her skirts.

Glaring at his former instructor disapprovingly he gave them each a dose of veritaserum. "Who am I?" he asked them.

"Professor Snape" they answered in turn.

"What do I teach at Hogwarts?"

"Potions."

"Do you like Professor Snape?" Minerva couldn't pass up the opportunity to tease her sullen colleague despite the seriousness of the situation.

"NO!" They simultaneously and emphatically exclaimed.

His glare at her deepened. "Who are you? What are your names?"

"Collin Creavey."

"Zephaniah Smith."

"Sarah Jamison."

Snape nodded. "We can take them to Madame Pomfrey now, Professor McGonagall."

"Very well." She took Sarah and Zephaniah by the hand and Hagrid followed suit by grasping Collin's tiny hand in his massive one. They made their way back to Hogwarts with Severus leading the way.

Poppy Pomfrey had readied three beds in her examination room. The two boys climbed willingly enough onto them when instructed, but little Sarah still clung to the skirt of Minerva's robes. "There, there love," she soothed, gently stroking the little Hufflepuff's hair, "everything is all right now. Why don't I get some hot chocolate for you three while Madame Pomfrey checks you over?"

Reluctantly the little girl pulled loose and allowed herself to be placed upon the bed. Poppy began her gentle exam while Minerva conjured three steaming mugs of chocolate, complete with a heavy dollup of whipped cream on the top and a large platter of sweets. Severus had gone to alert the Order of the so far seemingly safe return of the students, and she'd sent Hagrid to notify Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout.

When Poppy had satisfied herself that they were as physically healthy as they appeared, she and Minerva retreated into her office while the children sipped their cocoa.

"Are they all right, Poppy?"

"Physically, yes. Mentally, I think they will be in time. Right now they are in a bit of a shock, and they are terrified. But children are resilient, Minerva, and I think they will recover. Imagine, being held prisoner by You-Know-Who." She shuddered. "Why do you think he let them go? And unharmed, no less? Perhaps we'll know more when Albus returns."

"Perhaps we will." Minerva rose slowly, and much to her old friend's surprise, embraced her tightly. "Thank you, Poppy, for everything."

"You're welcome, Min," Poppy said, taken aback at her friend's unusual demonstrative display of affection and the tears that were misting her eyes.

"If you don't need me for anything else, I believe I shall retire for the night, I feel unbelievably weary."

"Of course, Min. I'll call you if there is any negative change in them."

As Minerva left the hospital wing, she slowly walked the silent halls of the old school that had been her home for so many years. She took in every sight, trying to impress into her memory every detail of her beloved Hogwarts. It was here that she met and fell in love with Albus Dumbledore. As a student! It was also here that she had met and fallen in love with a young Tom Riddle, after she was sure that her love with Dumbledore could never be.

And after school, when life with Tom became too frightening, too cruel and unbearable, she had left him, and returned to her first love and began her teaching career. She had always felt safe within its solid walls and in the arms of its Headmaster. Silent tears streamed down her face as she thought of Albus. He would be so angry and hurt when he found her gone and learned what she had done. But she couldn't dwell on Albus, if she did she would lose all courage and fail to fulfill the plan she had set in motion.

She made it outside the Hogwart's gate in animagus form. She slipped by Tonks unseen and positioned herself out of view of the guarding auror. There she waited in silence for the tell tale pops of the Death Eaters coming to take her. She felt strangely resigned to her self-induced fate, and was surprised to find that a deep calm had settled over her. Whether or not that calm would survive seeing Tom Riddle again, only time would tell.

She heard the faint pops of apparition around her, and immediately transformed back to her human self. Instinctively she reached for her wand, quickly remembering that she had left it on the desk in her office to keep it from coming into evil hands. Within seconds, three masked figures surrounded her. She felt the burning pain of the stunning spells hit her, and all was darkness.

He was literally ringing with anticipation. On the inside, of course. It had been a long, long time since he had seen Minerva. When he was forced to live parasitically off that imbecile Quirrell, he had been near her, heard her speak, but had been too weak and pathetic to do anything. He had cursed himself many times for the necessity of dependence on a half wit like Quirrell, for Minerva had no tolerance for fools, and Quirrell being a fool indeed, was allowed little time in her company.

He had waited for tonight for over half a century, planning carefully how he would punish her for her disloyalty, and reclaim her for his own. There had been little opportunity for action as Dumbledore kept her under tight watch at that damned castle, and rarely sent her on any missions for the Order of the Phoenix on her own. And now, without any effort on his part, she was returning to him of her own accord. And he had discovered new information to use against her in the breaking of her mind and spirit.

He had called an assembly of his inner circle, and all were present, cloaked and masked standing in a circle around the ballroom of his ancestral home and current headquarters. He could sense their unease at being unexpectedly summoned, even the normally immovable Severus Snape was perceptively rattled, if only to him. He fed off their fear, as fear fueled his power.

"Children, I have called you here to share with you a great stroke of luck. I have released the muggle-borns back to that fool Dumbledore, in trade for something much, much better. Our honored guest will be arriving shortly, and I wanted each of you to be here to greet her."

A tall figure entered the room, bowing low. "My Lord, your prisoner has arrived."

"Very good, Lucius. Please, show her in."

Gasps of shock and surprise were heard rippling through the circle of Death Eaters as none other than Minerva McGonagall calmly and regally entered before them, coming to stand before their master with her head held high as if this were an ordinary social call.


	7. Chapter 7 The Dream

Thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed

Thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed! I appreciate it very much!

Dreams, chapter 7

He had dismissed his Death Eaters and she was left alone with him, standing in the center of the otherwise empty ballroom. Voldemort was circling her as a predator would his prey, and she strove to maintain her composure. Her heart beat wildly inside her chest, but she would show no outward signs of fear.

She had been shocked at his appearance. There was nothing remotely recognizable of the handsome man she had once known. He was long buried, and what stood before her now was a twisted, inhuman version of that man.

"I have a great many plans for you, Minerva." He had come close behind her and whispered this into her ear, his breath cool on her face. His hands glided slowly up her arms and shoulders to caress her neck, and he gently and painstakingly began to remove her hairpins causing her long, raven locks to tumble down her back. His cold breath and touch sent icy tremors down her spine and she shivered visibly. "Did you like that, my dear?" he whispered venomously. "There is more to come."

She just stood there silently and willed herself not to cry or react in any way to his advances. That was what he wanted, after all; to see her suffer. So she made no sound, even when to her horror, her robes started slipping off her shoulders, inching their way to form deep green fabric puddles on the ground.

His cold, skeletal fingers were moving over her now, becoming less gentle as he tried to force a response from her lips. Her silence infuriated him and he swiveled her round to face him, one hand twisted in the hair at the nape of her neck, causing her to gasp in pain.

"Minerva, I am trying to get us reacquainted. Have you nothing to say to me after all these years?"

She stared defiantly back at him, emerald green eyes into his blood red slits. "I don't see how anything I might have to say to you would matter, Tom." She surprised herself at how steely and even her voice sounded.

The grip in her hair tightened and he pulled her mouth to his. His kiss dove deeper and deeper, seeming to suck all the air from her body. 'The Dementor's kiss' she thought bitterly. Her instinct was to fight back, to keep his mouth and hands from devouring her this way. But she knew she could not win, and he would have her anyway. The only satisfaction she could take was not to let him feel her fear. She was collapsing against him in her struggle for breath and he lowered her to the floor where she lay, trying to force her mind to focus on the faces of the three children sipping their chocolate and the awful fate she had saved them from.

When he had finished with her he leaned close to her, "We have many more nights of pleasure to look forward to, my dear," and leaving her prostrate on the floor called for Wormtail.

He entered the room bowing and scraping. "Yes Master?"

"Take this woman to her cell." And Voldemort was gone.

The little man knelt beside her. "Professor McGonagall, here let me help you—"

"Do not touch me, Pettigrew!" she spat vehemently at him as he handed her her robes. The sight of the sniveling coward who had cost James and Lily their lives—not to mention the irreparable damage done to Sirius Black—disgusted her to the point of nausea.

"I was only trying to help," he said, sounding much like the spineless tag-a-long of a student he had been years ago.

"You disgust me!" She covered herself with her cloak. "Now where is it you are supposed to be taking me?"

It was amazing to Peter Pettigrew that his old Transfiguration teacher could have just been ravaged by the Dark Lord himself, and still manage to boss him around like some haughty queen. "To your cell." He jerked her up roughly and led her down the hall and staircase to a bare, unfurnished room with no windows. Shoving her inside so hard that she fell, landing sharply on her knees, Pettigrew shut the door behind her and she was alone in the darkness. Too weary to move, she curled up in a tight ball for warmth. She allowed herself a few silent tears for Albus as she drifted into a fitful exhaustion driven sleep.

Harry Potter awoke with a start, beads of perspiration dripping down his forehead and into his eyes. He had seen a large room with nothing in it but a woman and Lord Voldemort. The woman appeared to be naked, but Harry couldn't be sure because her long, dark hair was partially covering her. She was crumpled in a heap on the floor, unmoving.

He heard Voldemort speak, "We have many more nights of pleasure to look forward to, my dear," he had whispered. And then he saw her face. Professor McGonagall!

Harry tore out of bed, his glasses askew on his face as he padded barefoot down the stairs and out of the common room. He ran until he reached the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office. "Pumpkin pasties!" he managed to shout rather breathlessly. The stone bird turned and Harry flew up the stairs hoping against hope that Dumbledore would be there.

"Professor Dumbledore! Professor Dumbledore! It's Harry Potter! I need to speak to you, sir! Please!" Harry called desperately. Somehow he knew it wasn't just a dream that he had had. Professor McGonagall was in trouble.

He was still rapping frantically on the door when it suddenly swung open, revealing a still dressed and startled looking Professor Dumbledore. "Harry. Come in. What is going on?"

"Professor Dumbledore, it's Voldemort. He has a woman, he was hurting her. I think it was Professor McGonagall…" Harry stopped to catch his breath.

"Minerva? Harry, slow down. What's this about Professor McGonagall?" Dumbledore looked truly concerned.

"I had a dream, Professor. I was in a large room and Voldemort was there, and I could see a woman lying on the floor, she looked…she looked like she might be hurt." Harry hesitated before adding, "I don't think she had any clothes on. And then I saw her face. It was Professor McGonagall."

Dumbledore looked taken aback. He had only arrived back at the school minutes before Harry's appearance at his door. He had just been getting ready to join Minerva in her chambers when the knock came at his door. He looked at Harry for a long moment. "Stay here, Harry, and I'll go and check Professor McGonagall's quarters. I'll just be a min—"

"Headmaster!" There was pounding on the door. "Headmaster! I need to speak with you urgently!" Severus Snape's distinctive voice called from behind the door.

"Come in, Severus!"

Severus Snape burst through the door into Dumbledore's office. "Headmaster, it's Minerva. I've just come from—" he stopped short upon seeing Harry standing in the room in his pajamas.

"You may continue, Severus. Harry is aware of the goings on of the Order."

Severus nodded reluctantly. "Minerva is gone. The Dark Lord is holding her prisoner."

Dumbledore's face looked stunned. But he spoke quickly, addressing Harry. "Harry, go and wake Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger. I'd like for you all to dress and meet Professor Snape and myself back here in half an hour's time. We need to meet with the others as soon as possible."

"Yes sir," Harry answered quickly and ran out of the office to wake his friends.

Dumbledore turned to Severus. "What happened, Severus?" The twinkle was gone from his blue eyes. He looked angry, desperate, and dangerous.

"It would appear, that Minerva gave herself in trade for the three students the Dark Lord was planning to kill on Saturday night. I was summoned by him shortly after we got them back to the castle. He told us he had released them in exchange for a far 'greater prize'. You can imagine my horror when Minerva was brought in."

For the first time in his memory, Albus Dumbledore failed to meet his eyes. "Severus, Harry said in his dream that Min…that she…was naked."

And then their eyes did meet. And what Severus Snape saw shook him to his very core. Albus Dumbledore. The greatest wizard in the world. Full of pain and fear. "That I can not confirm. We were dismissed just after they brought her in."

Dumbledore swallowed hard and nodded. "I need to check her office, make sure that she was not indeed taken by force. If she was, then Hogwarts is at risk. Stay and wait until Harry and Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger come back and then take them to Grimmauld Place. I will join you there shortly."


	8. Chapter 8 The Letters

Thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed

The Letters, Chapter 8

Albus Dumbledore entered Minerva's office to find it in complete order. He sat down in the stiff wooden chair behind her unnaturally tidy desk. The familiar sight of her extraordinary organizational skills brought tears dangerously close to the surface.

Merlin, he was angry! And lost and terrified and heart broken all at once. Harry's dream coupled with Severus's confirmation had left him feeling as if someone had repeatedly punched him in his gut, while squeezing every ounce of life from his heart.

Damn Minerva and her Gryffindor bravery! Damn Voldemort and his Death Eaters! And damn you, Albus Dumbledore, he thought, for not being here to stop her from going through with this damned foolish plan. He had failed her. Again.

He had no time for grief right now. He needed to get to Headquarters and inform the Order. He needed to get her out of there.

Two envelopes were lying on he desk. One was neatly folded and addressed to 'Headmaster Albus Dumbledore', the other was just marked 'Albus'. He opened the official one first.

_Dear Albus,_

_I am truly sorry for the inconvenience finding a replacement for my classes will no doubt cause. All exams, essays, and other exercise papers are marked and filed by year and House, and ready for return to the students. In the same cabinet, in the bottom drawer you will find my lesson plans and outlines for the remainder of the term._

_As you know I have been privately tutoring Hermione Granger in achieving Animagus and in advanced Transfiguration and Harry in some Auror training exercises. There are two folders in my top desk drawer outlining their progress and future exercises._

_As I do not hope to return to Hogwarts alive I should like to designate a few of my possessions, the rest belong to you to keep or dispose of as you see fit._

_My Time-turner you may wish to give to Harry, as he may have need of it and it may be of great use to him in the trials ahead. Miss Granger is fully versed in its use and the laws that apply to time travel._

_Please give one of my lockets to Poppy, Pomona, and Rolanda; Poppy can decide which to give to whom. I would like for Hagrid, Filius, and Severus to each have one of my father's gold pocket watches, you can decide which of them should receive which watch._

_I have left a pair of argyle socks for Dobby, the house elf._

_Finally, I have contained many of my dearest memories in vials locked in the small wooden chest on my desk. These I entrust to you, Albus. I hope they will bring you as much comfort as they have to me over the years._

_Minerva McGonagall_

Albus swiped at the tears now pouring freely down his face. Minerva and her damned efficiency. It was so like her to have everything neatly laid out and prepared, to cause him the least amount of inconvenience even in this gravest of circumstances—her expected death.

He couldn't let her die, because, truth be told, Albus Dumbldore wasn't at all sure _he could live_—with out her.

The other letter lay unopened before him. He stared unblinkingly at it for a time, both wanting and dreading to read its contents. Finally, when he knew he could avoid it no longer he broke the seal and began to read.

_My darling husband,_

_Please forgive me for the pain I am undoubtedly causing you. Words could not express my grief at this premeditated deception, but my love, I had to do it. Please understand. Over the years I see their faces. They appear continually before me in my dreams, haunting me—pleading with me to help them, to save them._

_The ones who have died—and the ones who have lived. Lily, James, Alice, Frank, Sirius, Cedrik—and the others. The young ones coming up to fight—Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville. My students, all. My children—the ones that you and I could never have. They haunt me, Albus. In my failure to save them, to protect them from harm. I couldn't add three more, Albus. Three more voices to hear screaming in my sleep._

_Please know that nothing could have made me happier than being your wife, secretly or publicly. You are the most honorable man I have ever known, and I love you from the very depths of my soul._

_I do not expect to be saved from this hell I am entering. Please know that I neither expect nor wish you or any other Order member to further risk our cause for me._

_I love you my husband, and have faith that we shall reunite again._

_With all my love eternally,_

_Min_

He was sobbing freely now, clutching her words to his heart, head in his hands. He had to pull himself together, he had to do it _now_ if there were to be any chance of saving her.

They were waiting for him. Hiding her letter safely in a deep pocket in his robes he called for Fawkes, and left for number 12 Grimmauld Place, and the Order of the Phoenix.


	9. Chapter 9 History

a/n: Thank you for reading and reviewing! I appreciate it so very much!

This chapter is rather long and I hope not too boring!

History, Chapter 9

The Order sat around the long table in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, conversing in hushed tones. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were trying to console a guilt ridden Tonks, while Mrs. Weasley attempted to do the same for a sobbing Hagrid.

When Albus Dumbledore appeared in a flash of light with Fawkes, all fell silent as they waited for him to speak.

"I trust that Severus and Harry have apprised you all on tonight's events? It seems that Minerva did indeed give herself up willingly, and that she had given a lot of thought and preparation to this 'trade' to avoid discovery."

"Professor, I am so sorry! I was on guard duty, but I failed to see her…I might've stopped her—" Tonks cried out, interrupting.

Dumbledore smiled at her kindly, "Now Nymphadora, no one is blaming you. I believe that Minerva used her animagus to slip past you unnoticed, and even had you discovered her I doubt you could have stopped her. Minerva with her mind made up and on a mission is a force to be reckoned with."

"She left me a letter," he continued, "describing the endless guilt she has endured these many years over her failure to protect so many of her students," his eyes lingered on Harry for a moment, before adding in a slightly pained voice, "she just couldn't bear the thought of any more coming to harm by Voldemort's hands."

"Bloody fool thing to do! When in hell did Minerva get to be so bloody irrational?" Moody interjected, though his voice was tinged with worry.

"Alastor!" Remus Lupin admonished. "The man just lost his wife to the Death Eaters, try and show a little more sympathy!"

"I meant no disrespect, Albus, you know how close Minerva and I have always been. It's just so damned unlike her to do something so stupid. She was a bloody auror, after all." Moody fell silent, and wiped at his good eye with his sleeve.

"Wife?! Auror? What are they talking about, Professor?" Hermione Granger asked, puzzled.

Dumbledore looked at the three confused faces before him. "Minerva is my wife. We have been married for over fifty years."

Ron's jaw dropped. "Bloody hell…"was all he managed to say.

"You're married? You and Professor McGonagall?" Harry asked in astonishment.

He nodded. "We have had to keep our private lives a secret, as I have many enemies and did not wish to have retaliation sought against me through Minerva. Also, as I have always enjoyed a certain degree of celebrity—"

"The most famous, powerful wizard of the age—" interjected Arthur Weasley.

"Yes, that. Minerva is an extremely private person who does not enjoy or seek fame, nor any type of public recognition. There were many reasons to keep our union out of the public eye. You would have learned about our marriage upon becoming official members of the Order, as all who are present here share in this information."

While Ron and Harry sat looking thunderstruck, Hermione, who seemed to find the fact that her two Professors had been secretly husband and wife for half a century the most natural thing in the world, moved on to ask, "And Professor Moody said she was an Auror?"

"Aye, that she was! And one of the best, at that!" Moody answered. "Helped Dumbledore defeat Grindelwald all those years ago. Youngest witch to complete Auror training in history, at the time."

"A record she still holds," Tonks volunteered.

"So how did she end up teaching at Hogwarts if she was an Auror?" Harry asked. He couldn't imagine someone giving up as exciting a career as tracking down and capturing dark wizards to do something as sedate as _teach_.

"Minerva never really wanted to be an Auror. Not permanently, anyway. You see, her father was chief Auror for the Ministry during the war with Grindelwald and was killed in ambush during her sixth year. I believe she felt it was her duty to follow in his footsteps and carry on the fight he had begun. She worked tirelessly at her studies and completed her Auror training with honors in less than two years." Dumbledore's voice was full of pride. "She fought by my side in the last battle, and I daresay I may have faltered with out her, but she was always such a rock, supporting me—" his voice broke and he fell silent.

"So that is when you fell in love? When you were fighting side by side? How romantic!" Hermione sighed.

"Not exactly." Albus blushed. "I actually fell in love with Min while she was a student. We spent a great deal of time together, as I was head of Gryffindor House, and she was a prefect, then Head Girl, and I was her sponsor for her Animagus training. She was quite unlike anyone I had ever known."

"You were snogging McGonagall when she was a student?!" Ron asked, unable to process his prim and proper middle-aged Transfiguration instructor making out with Dumbledore as a young teenager.

"Ronald! Show some respect, please." Mrs. Weasley scolded sternly.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Ron muttered sincerely, eyes studying his shoes intently.

"No offense taken, Mr. Weasley. And no, we weren't exactly 'snogging' back then. As I said, we were spending a great deal of time together, and became very close. One night, in her seventh year, she revealed that she was in love with me."

"How wonderful!" Tonks and Hermione exclaimed dreamily, both caught up in the romanticism of his story.

"Yes, I suppose it would have been, had I been able to unveil my own love for her. But, I couldn't, as she was my student, and to make matters even more impracticable, I am over fifty years her senior. It would have been scandalous to say the least, and I would have lost my position at Hogwarts had anyone discovered my involvement with a student. So I explained to her that as flattering as her feelings for me no doubt were, that I could never return them and she needed to move on and find someone else more appropriate to shower her attentions upon."

"Oh, poor Professor McGonagall. That must have broken her heart." Hermione sniffed sadly. "But when she was finished with school—"

"She had indeed moved on. Not declaring my love for Minerva is perhaps the biggest mistake I have ever made. After I dashed all hopes of us being together, she became involved with another. I'm afraid my rejection pushed her right into his arms." There was sorrow darkening his blue eyes at this recollection.

"Yes, but you ended up together, Professor. That is what matters." Tonks patted the old wizard's hand comfortingly.

"Yes we did. But I am afraid those few years in between have a great deal to do with our present situation. You see, Lord Voldemort has a great deal of personal interest in Professor McGonagall. The man that Minerva became involved with was none other than Tom Riddle."

Even the adults, save Moody and Hagrid appeared stunned. "You mean _**Professor McGonagall and You-Know-Who**_?" Ron stared at Dumbledore. This was too much. The very idea that the respective pentagons of good and evil could have once been…_lovers_…was just going too far. Apparently he was not alone in this thinking.

"Oh, Albus! Surely not!" Molly exclaimed.

"They were bloody engaged to be married!" Moody growled. "I told her even then he was a no good son of a—"

"Alistor is correct. They were indeed engaged at one time," Dumbledore interrupted. "You see, Tom was the epitome of charm and good manners while he was a student. He was very popular, especially with the girls. He had an exemplary record at Hogwarts, he received every award and scholarship available, and the only person who didn't seem to recognize his superiority in every detail, was Minerva McGonagall. She appeared oblivious to his many charms. And so he began to pursue her ardently, and finding her in a vulnerable moment, ultimately succeeded."

"I of course, did not approve of their relationship, for more than one reason, but I could not divulge my suspicions about Tom to her because at that time I feared they might be unfounded. I did not wish to unfairly prejudice anyone towards him without any concrete proof, which I was never able to obtain. And so I said nothing as I saw them grow closer, and watched Minerva fall in love with him."

"I don't feel that he ever loved her in return, she was merely another feather in his cap, the most desirable woman in wizard society, and therefore the one he felt that he deserved. He regarded her as a possession, a prize of sorts, but he was careful in her treatment at first, and so she was blinded by his true character."

"After school, Tom kept a rather low profile, taking a job as a store clerk in Knock Turn Alley, but Minerva and I remained close as she began her Auror training and afterwards accompanied me on many missions during the ongoing war. She began to confide in me that Tom's personality was changing, that he was becoming possessive and at times almost violent, and that was beginning to frighten her. At first, she blamed their long separations for the change in character, choosing to believe that all would return to normal when the war ended and she would not be absent for long periods of time on top security missions for the Ministry."

"But then she even began to wonder if he weren't aiding the enemy. Her brief time with him in London between assignments became increasingly strained, and she was questioning whether she should indeed go through with the upcoming wedding, and she wrote Tom a letter from Austria, telling him she was postponing things, maybe indefinately. Then the war ended, and things did not improve. In fact, they got worse and she ended their relationship. She showed up late one night at my door, and told me it was over between them. Minerva was quite shaken. I believe she was truly afraid of him. She didn't know where else to go, and as I feared for her safety, invited her to stay with me.

"She said that Tom had been researching Horcruxes, along with other ancient dark magic that had long been forbidden. That he had told her of plans to gather an army of sorts to purge the wizard world of all who were not pure bloods. That he didn't want to be called 'Tom' anymore, but that his new name would be Voldemort. 'Lord Voldemort' to be exact. He was going to be ruler supreme and that she would be by his side."

"When Minerva told him that these were the plans of a mad man, that he sounded just like Grindelwald and that she would never be a part of any of it, he grew angry. He began cursing at her, destroying everything in the house. She told him it was over, and managed to apparate out. She stayed with me at my family estate for a few weeks before there was an incident that brought it all to a head—Alastor, maybe you had better take it from here. After all, you were there."

Moody nodded, and Dumbledore took a seat next to Remus, gratefully accepting a mug of ale from Arthur Weasley.

"One night there was a particularly nasty attack on a muggle family, tortured and killed for no apparent reason. Minerva and I were called to the scene. She got there first." Moody paused, remembering. "She found the parents' bodies lying twisted in their own blood, not a simple _Avada Kadavra,_ but some ancient, dark magic curse. There was a small boy lying faced down in the corner, a look of terror frozen upon its face. She heard a soft crying sound and followed it, finding a little muggle girl huddled inside a closet clutching her teddy bear. Minerva coaxed the child out, when a blood stained Tom Riddle walked into the room."

"She stood, obviously confused to see him there. She told me later that she had known the family; that they had lived close to her flat when she was living in London and that she had often spoken to them in passing. The house had not been victim of a random attack. It was directed at Minerva."

"By the time I arrived, I could hear their voices from outside the house. He was yelling for her to stand aside, and she was refusing to move even though he had already disarmed her.

'_You caused this, Minerva!' _I heard him say_. 'You should never have left me.'_

She answered him_, 'Tom, how could you do this? You've become a monster! What has happened to you?'_

He shouted at her_, 'You are mine, Minerva. You promised yourself to me. You will never be rid of me. I will have you, mark my words. Run to Dumbledore if you must, be his whore, but you are mine. I promise you_.'

As I broke through the door I saw two curses flying through the air, one he uttered I did not recognize, the other was the greenish light of the killing curse, and Minerva was on the ground, bleeding, the child dead beside her. I shot a few curses of my own at him and missed, and he apparated out."

"That was the last time You-Know-Who was ever seen, known as Tom Riddle," Moody said, finishing his tale.

Dumbledore picked back up. "It took a long time for Minerva to recover. She was hit with a very ancient curse that caused hemorrhaging in her major organs. She lost a tremendous amount of blood, and we almost lost her. As she finally began to recover, I took her back to Hogwarts to stay, as I feared Tom would return to make good on his word. She expressed a desire to leave the Auror division, as she was tired of the constant violence and death she had witnessed over the last few years. I suggested to her that she might enjoy teaching, as she had excelled as a student especially in Transfiguration, and I had that position open since I was newly appointed Headmaster and would no longer be teaching the subject. I must confess, that my motives for offering her a position were clouded by a desire to keep her close to me and protect her from another attack by Tom Riddle, now calling himself Lord Voldemort."

"The idea did indeed appeal to her, and she accepted the position. It turns out she had a natural inclination for teaching, and the rest is history. Minerva loved teaching, she loved her subject, loved the students. And I was very much in love with her, but still worried about the difference in our ages. Also, she was still recovering from the trauma of battle and the end of her relationship with Tom and then his attack on her person. I did not wish to take advantage of her fragile emotional state."

"As the days passed, we grew closer than ever. Then one day she told me that I was a great source of conflict between Tom and herself. He accused her of still loving me, and though she had denied it to him, she confessed to me that it was true. That though she had tried she had never stopped loving me." Tears filled his eyes, but he did not blink them away. He let them fall. "I kissed her then. We were married a short time after."

"I gave her away," Moody said softly.

"I was there, too, it was a lovely weddin'," Hagrid managed to get out in between blowing his nose into a giant handkerchief.

Everyone sat silently for a long moment, pondering the story they had just heard.

"So how do we save her?" Hermione asked, breaking the quiet and bringing them all back to the reason they were meeting in the first place.

"Yes, that is the question." Dumbledore turned to his friend and heretofore silent potions master. "Severus, how much time do you think we have?"

"It is hard to say. The students were to be kept alive until Saturday, to be used to test and initiate three new Death Eaters. Since Minerva has taken their place, I believe that he will keep her alive until then. However, from what you have told us tonight he may not be planning to kill her at all. But finding her alive and finding her alive and _intact_ are two different matters."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. Everyone knew the meaning of the word 'intact'. Frank and Alice Longbottom were alive. But that was all.


	10. Chapter 10 The Party

The Party, Chapter 10

The Party, Chapter 10

She was no longer sure how many days or hours had passed. She had seen no one, save Peter Pettigrew, who brought her meals from time to time. There was no way for her to mark the passing of time in her windowless cell, all was darkness: morning, noon and night.

She never touched the food that Pettigrew shoved into the blackness at her. What was the sense of eating, when eating prolonged life and she had no reason to live? Truth be told, she was no longer hungry. She did allow herself to drink the tea he provided, because though she did not feel hunger she felt the cold, and tea helped to drive back the chill. She slept when she was able, walked in circles around her cell to keep warm when she couldn't.

To keep her mind from shutting down she practiced transfiguration spells in her head, worked through complicated charms and runes, tried to recollect potion ingredients from memory. And she tried _not_ to think of Albus. If she focused on other things she could block the utter desperation and hopelessness of her situation. She could remain in control. When her mind went to Albus, a misery gripped her heart in vice-like agony and she felt that she would surely drop dead from despair. But try as she may she could not banish him from her mind.

And then Voldemort called for her. The door to her room opened suddenly, catching her unaware, and she jumped back in surprise. Squinting against the light now pouring into her sunless cell she made out the form of Peter Pettigrew's rounded shape. "The Master wishes to see you. He says you are to make yourself presentable. You have one hour," and the door shut behind him.

"Make yourself Presentable?" she thought to herself, "with what?" But no sooner had the thought entered her mind, the empty room began to transform around her. Warm, natural light filled the area, and it suddenly appeared as though she were standing in the girls' prefects' bathroom at Hogwarts. Water was already pouring from the taps into the tub; iridescent bubbles filling the basin, floating in the air around her.

In the corner of the room appeared a vanity, with an ornately carved mirror, like she had had in her bedroom as a teenager in her family home. Next to the vanity was a large wardrobe, and hanging from its doors was a set of Slytherin-green satin dress robes.

Standing in front of the mirror she looked aghast at her appearance. Her face was deathly pale from the deprivation of light, and cheeks gaunt from lack of food. Her normally emerald green eyes shown as large, black pools from utter dilation of her pupils.

She sank gratefully into the warm waters of the bathtub, not wanting to think about what might come after. As she washed her hair and soaked her cold, weary bones she contemplated drowning herself. It would be a sweet, easy relief to end this hell beneath the soothing waters. But she was certain she could not succeed. Her cell was no doubt being closely monitored, and any drastic changes in her life signs or magic stores would sound an alarm. Salty tears mingled with the soapy water. She had chosen this, she reminded herself sternly. But the choosing did not make it easier.

When she stepped out of the marble tub a soft, fluffy towel materialized and she dried herself and slipped into the smooth satin robes he had laid out for her. They fit her tightly, but not uncomfortably. Now as she stared at her reflection the years seemed to have melted away, and it was as if she were looking at a more mature, sophisticated version of her younger self. The robes, she remembered suddenly, were identical to the ones she had worn to the Yule Ball her last year as a student at Hogwarts. She had chosen to wear Slytherin green over her Gryffindor red to impress Tom.

She brushed her raven hair, magically drying with each stroke of the brush, and was alarmed when the pins with which she tried in vain to fashion her normal bun kept flying out and disappearing, leaving her locks falling frustratingly loose around her waist. With her eyes returning to their normal size and hue and a bit of color in her cheeks from the warmth of her bath, even she knew she looked beautiful. And that frightened her.

The door to her chamber opened again. "Are you ready?" Pettigrew asked. She joined him in silent answer, furiously trying to compose her features and calm her mind. As she followed wordlessly down the dim corridor she realized she was in the old Riddle mansion. Tom had brought her here once, all those years ago. As she followed Pettigrew through the massive oak doors she found herself once again in the ballroom, and once again standing before Tom Riddle.

Severus knew he was allowing his mind to wander dangerously. But right now, the Dark Lord was so intently focused on Minerva that he doubted very much he need bother with occlumency shields at all. He stood staring dumbly in awe of the breathtaking witch before him. He had always thought Minerva attractive, but she was more than that, he realized. She was beautiful. Without her customary bun and glasses, she looked softer, more radiant—and decades younger. He was looking at the side of her that belonged solely to Albus Dumbledore, what he must be privy to, behind closed doors.

He was amazed at how she stood calmly, regally even—to face the Dark Lord, a semi-circle of Death Eaters behind her. She met his gaze unflinchingly, something not even his most loyal of followers dared to do. No wonder Albus loved her, and that the Dark Lord wanted her.

Severus stood in line, surrounded by Lucius Malfoy, Lestrange, Crabbe, Goyle, and Pettigrew, wondering what torture he would be required to submit her to, and whether she or Albus would forgive him for it. He prayed that he could forgive himself.

"Minerva. How good of you to join us. As you can see, I've arranged a little party for you." He gestured behind her to the six Death Eaters enclosing her from escape. She did not bother to glance behind, but continued to gaze steadily at him.

"My dear, I see you've not lost that brave Gryffindor stoicism. How unfortunate for you. You see, I like my followers to do a little graveling at my feet."

"That is doubtful to happen, as I am not one of your followers, Tom." Her voice was deep and husky from lack of use.

"Ah. We come to our first lesson, _Professor_. Crucio!"

The spell threw her forcefully on to her back as she writhed and convulsed in pain, yet no sound escaped her lips. This seemed to amuse him, rather than anger him further, however, and as the curse subsided he admonished her calmly, "No one has called me by that name for a long time, Minerva. Surely you have heard the title that I go by, these days? What is my name, Minerva?"

"Tom Riddle," she breathed out through clenched teeth.

"Crucio!"

Again she writhed under the agony of the curse, but just as before no sound was made. As the spell waned, she pushed herself up a little, panting for breath.

"Say my name, Minerva."

She glared silently back at him, either unwilling or unable to speak.

"Crucio!"

This time she screamed in anguish, her body thrashing violently on the floor. He hit her again and again with the cruciatus curse, her screams intensifying with her pain.

"My followers call me Lord Voldemort, Minerva. Just say my name, love, and it will all be over."

_Say the bloody name, Minerva_! Severus yelled at her in his mind, not sure how much longer he could endure listening to her torturous wailing as her body bent and twisted under the excruciating torment it was being subjected to.

"Go on, love, say it. Just say my name. I show mercy to those who obey me."

"…I…will…never…" she gasped, her voice barely audible. "…not…yours…" turning into another blood curdling cry as the curse slammed into her broken body once again.

Voldemort laughed harshly. "Let us all take part in this lesson for the good professor. She seems to be learning rather slowly." He nodded to the masked, cloaked men forming the half moon circle around her body.

In turn they raised their wands, hitting her one by one with cries of "crucio" until her body continued to spasm but she grew too weak to cry out anymore, and fell deathly quiet.

As Severus stood, last to project the unforgivable spell upon her now silent, limp form, he prayed again that she would be able to forgive him. He stared down at her, hair and robes now soaked darkly with her sweat, eyes glassed open blankly staring at the ceiling. He knew he would never forgive himself.

"Let us not go to sleep yet, Minerva. Remember, we are having a party in your honor, and it isn't over yet." He pointed his wand at her lifeless form and she snapped back to alertness, her expression contorted in agony, small tremors shaking her body as echoes of fading pain washed over her.

Voldemort addressed his Death Eaters. "Professor McGonagall and I are old acquaintances. We go way back. Old lovers, really. She was mine once. Promised herself to me. And then she did something very un-Gryffindor. She broke her promise." Severus cringed under his mask at the malice in his voice. "She went whoring after Albus Dumbledore like a common slut. A whore deserves to be treated as a whore. Therefore I give her up to your use. Crabbe, you and Goyle may enjoy her tonight. When you are finished, Wormtail will return her to her cell."

"Thank you, Master." The two men bowed low, eyeing Minerva lasciviously.

Voldemort walked out of the room, followed by the other four men. As he passed her, Severus tried to catch Minerva's eye, but she just lay there, unmoving, her face impassive but pain and fear visible in her green eyes.

As they made their way to the Riddle liabrary, he turned to Severus. "I trust you will make a full report to the Headmaster, Snape? It will be good to give that fool Dumbledore a little something to lose sleep over. In fact, I have written him a thank you note that you may deliver."

"Yes, my Lord," Severus nodded humbly.

As he walked past the ballroom to the apparition point he could hear the raucous laughter of Crabbe and Goyle, but though he strained to hear Minerva's voice, from her all was silent. With heavy heart he returned to Hogwarts, dreading with all his soul the report he had to make.


	11. Chapter 11 Possession

Chapter 11 Possession

a/n: I hope this isn't dragging on too long...I promise we are working hard to save Minerva! Just a few more chapters to go. Thanks for reading!

Chapter 11 Possession

Severus stood in silence, watching Albus Dumbledore pace furiously around his office, now littered with the broken debris of the casualties of his wrath. He was slowly calming and Severus waited, allowing the man time for his grief. The letter from the Dark Lord lay crumpled and flaming at his feet. When Dumbledore had broken the parchment's seal the icy, calculating voice of Voldemort sounded loudly in the air.

_My Dear Professor;_

_I wanted to thank you for keeping our Minerva in such good shape all of these years. I daresay she has learned a few tricks that she did not possess in our years together. I so enjoyed reacquainting myself with her. Do not worry, I shall take care of your wife and see that she gets plenty of exercise. _

_You might also be pleased to know that Minerva has beaten the known record for receiving the most attacks of the Cruciatus Curse and surviving. No doubt there will be many more opportunities to test her stamina in the days ahead—"_

The parchment burst into flames, Dumbledore's wand hand shaking with rage as he blasted it out of the air. When he finally stopped his pacing he seemed to remember Snape's presence, and turned to face him, steely calm anger reflected in his voice. "How many times was she hit?"

"I lost count at twelve."

Dumbledore swore loudly, a look of intense pain in his blue eyes. "Did she lose consciousness?"

"No. Not entirely, although afterwards she was unresponsive."

Dumbledore closed his eyes tightly for a moment and Severus thought he saw a tear escape from the corner of his lids, traveling down his crooked nose.

"She called him 'Tom', which infuriated him. He wished to force her to call him Lord V..Voldemort…but she refused. She never did. He would have stopped her torture, but she just…she's just so—"

"So bloody stubborn," Dumbledore finished for him.

Snape nodded. "They know about you, also. He told the others that you and Minerva are married. And then..," Merlin how he hated this! "He gave her to Crabbe and Goyle for the night." He stared intently at the wizard before him. His face was unreadable, but he could feel his anger as its swell caused his magic to crackle through the atmosphere around them.

After a long time, he spoke. "We have to get her out." _Before there is nothing left. _The thought stretched unspoken between them. "We meet with the others at eight this evening."

Severus nodded at him and turned to go, sensing his friend needed to be alone.

"Severus?"

The younger man paused at the door, his hand on the knob, and turned slightly to face him. "Yes?"

"Is there a chance you might have an opportunity to relay a message to Minerva?"

Severus blanched before turning a bright shade of red. "I believe I am to have 'time' with her tonight."

Dumbledore nodded, understanding. "Tell her I'm coming. To hold on," he said quietly.

"I will." And he closed the door behind him.

Dumbledore sank wearily into the chair behind his desk and picked up the only object in his office that remained intact after his angry tirade. It was a picture of Minerva taken many Christmases ago, her face bestowing upon him one of her rare, dazzling smiles. He ran his finger over the glass above her cheek and whispered, " I am coming, Min."

***********

The morning after her torture with the Cruciatus Curse she had had to be carried to him when he called for her. Her body weakened to the point of collapse she had found herself unable to stand. She cursed herself for this admission of frailty but despite her best effort could not suppress the pain still pulsing through her body and causing her limbs to disobey her.

Far worse than the brutal ravishment of her physical self was the systematic rape of her mind. She could keep nothing from him, her mental shields weakened to the point of nonexistence by the torture of her body. Her valiant yet failing attempts to resist his intrusions gave him intense pleasure as she was unable to mask her fear of him while he was present in the inner depths of her mind.

He probed viciously in her memories for hours at a time, voyeuristically lingering on the frightening, the painful, and the horrific. He mocked her happiness's and triumphs, and when he witnessed her recollection of she and Albus making love for the first time his anger swelled within her causing such agony that she fainted. She awoke with her head throbbing hours later, alone in her darkened cell.

The bath before her summons to him was becoming a daily ritual. The barren room would transform around her, new robes appearing in the wardrobe, and then she would be expected in the library. She always saw him alone, just Voldemort himself, with Naigini curled at his feet.

Now she sat across from him at the long dining room table, hands resting in her lap, concentrating intently on the food lying untouched before her.

"Not eating again, my dear? You really should eat, you know, you are getting to be frightfully thin. We must keep our strength up."

"Your concern for my well being is most touching," she said acidly.

Her sarcasm caused him to laugh. "Of course I am concerned about your health, Minerva. Weak kittens are no fun to play with." The angry flash in her green eyes made him laugh harder, the reference to her animagus form striking an obvious nerve. "That's the idea, isn't it? You are starving yourself?"

She said nothing, knowing he was reading her thoughts.

"I could Imperious you and force you to eat." She glared at him. "Of course, you would prove particularly difficult to Imperious." He knew perfectly well in their Hogwarts days that no one in Defense Against the Dark Arts had been able to successfully cast the Imperious Curse on Minerva, himself included. She was too strong willed.

"I could have you restrained and let Wormtail spoon feed you." Her glare deepened. "Or better yet, I could have him skewered and roasted in his rat form and force feed him to you myself. Yes, I like that option best. Wormtail!" he called.

Minerva paled and forcefully stabbed at a piece of meat, stuffing it quickly into her mouth.

When Wormtail appeared at the door, Voldemort smiled coldly at her and said, "Never mind, Wormtail. The good Professor has just saved your life."

Pettigrew's face went ashen and Minerva choked down the bile rising in her throat. It had not been an empty threat.

"That's right, Minerva." She could feel him inside her mind, though he was speaking aloud, as much for Pettigrew's benefit as for hers. "I do not make empty threats. You would have done well to remember it. Perhaps you have forgotten our conversation all those years ago?"

_Suddenly she was back in London, in the muggle house standing between Tom and the little girl with blonde curls, sobbing into her teddy bear. Her head did not turn, but her eyes darted furtively about. Where in Merlin's name was Alastor? She was so shocked to see Tom enter the room that he had disarmed her easily, his presence still registering even as she heard him speak "expelliarmus!" _

_She felt her heart racing, breath catching in her throat as the realization hit her—he had done this. He had tortured and murdered this family to get to her. She felt sick inside, but forced herself to remain calm._

_"You should never have left me, Minerva. I told you not to." He said this as casually as if he had been telling a child with a tummy ache that they should not have eaten so many sweets. His coldness unnerved her._

_"Stand aside, Minerva."_

_When she did not move, he screamed at her, his rage emanating in a terrifying force, "Stand aside!"_

_She stood there, staring at him. She could feel the little girl's trembling body pressed against the back of her legs, clutching to her robes. "Tom, how could you do this? What kind of a monster have you become?"_

_His eyes narrowed. "You caused this Minerva, you should never have left me. Go running after Dumbledore if you must, be his whore. But you are mine. You will never be rid of me. I promise you."_

_From the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of Alastor in the doorway as she felt his curse slam into her, saw the greenish light of Avada Kedavra as she fell, the metallic taste of blood in her mouth and the sticky warmth spreading over her…_

She blinked against the brightness of his exit from her mind, and her sudden return to reality. "I see you have not forgotten," she heard him saying, "I told you that you would never be rid of me." She struggled to maintain her composure as she tried desperately to force the horrible image of the dead little girl from her memory.

"You are mine, Minerva." She shook her head, not yet trusting herself to speak.

"Why hasn't your beloved husband come to rescue you? You have been here for four days. Of course, it's understandable that he wouldn't want you anymore. I sent him news of your recent activities here, and of course, after all, he gave you in trade for those muggle brats—"

"Albus knew nothing about that!" She snapped, her anger rising.

"Perhaps he is a coward, then." He said silkily, his hand running through her dark tresses behind her.

"Albus Dumbledore is no coward! He is ten times the man and wizard you will ever be!" she spat the words at him, rising abruptly and moving out of his reach.

"Not anymore, love. I have you, now."

"Don't call me that!" she shouted, stepping backward as he advanced slowly towards her. He reached out, cupping her chin with his icy fingers as she felt her back come in contact with the wall.

"I will call you what I like. As I have said, you are mine again."

"Why? Why do you want me, Tom? You never loved me." Her voice was still laced with defiance, but there was also genuine curiosity in the question.

"You are the best, Minerva. And I only take the best. It is the right of power. You are the only thing Dumbledore has ever had over me. Without you, he is not as strong. With you, I am stronger."

"Dumbledore has many things over you, _Lord Voldemort_." His eyes flashed dangerously, but she continued, "There are other powers besides fear."

He sneered at her, his grip tightening around her jaw, but she fought back the wince of pain. "Like _love_, Minerva? _Love_ and _honesty_, and _kindness_? _Integrity_?" His voice mocked her. "That power won't save you from me. I will break you, Minerva. I will teach you the power of fear."

His red eyes bored into her, but she returned his stare unblinking. "Love conquers fear, Tom," she managed to whisper quietly. "Always."

"We shall see, love." He lowered his mouth to hers and again his kiss drew all the air from her body. She grew dizzy, her lungs burning as the oxygen was vacuumed from them. He let her drop to her knees. "The game is simple, love. We will play until you learn the rules. It ends when you ask me to end it. It is a game of torture, a power struggle between you and I. We play as long as you wish."

She looked up at him, not comprehending. The room was still spinning from her lack of air. He knelt down in front of her, steadying her swaying form with his hands.

"It's easy to play, Minerva. All you have to do is ask me to stop, and it's all over."

"You'll kill me, then?" she asked shakily. That was too easy, she thought.

"No, no love. You don't get to die. There is no fun in that. When I have broken you, you will beg me to stop your torture. You will beg me to have mercy. And I will. I am merciful to my followers. You will have no more nights of playing hostess to my Death Eaters. You will share a bed with me, and not be confined to that cold cell. You will belong solely to me. When you beg me, you will pledge yourself to me."

"Never."

"We shall see."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12, The Long Night

She was escorted back to her quarters without further incident, a fact that both relieved and alarmed her. She felt strongly that it would be foolish to hope that the day's events would be over for her, that Voldemort would be satisfied with a brief rampage through her darkest thoughts and a short albeit suffocating kiss—especially in light of the anger she had roused in him. No, she thought, he is far from done with me. Peter Pettigrew closed the door behind her leaving her alone in the cold darkness to ponder what her punishment for this evening's defiance might be.

She did not have long to wait. Lanterns began to appear on the stone walls around her, filling the room with harsh yellow light. A desk appeared in the corner, identical to the one in her classroom. The door opened, and the tall, severe form of Lucius Malfoy entered. "Good evening, Minerva."

*********************

Steady rain was falling, adding further chill to the late October twilight, soaking them to the bone as Harry, Ron, and Hermione waited to enter Headquarters. Dumbledore had arranged for them to arrive by port key instead of using the floo network as he had been summoned to a last minute meeting at the Ministry and he alone had power to allow access to the floo at Hogwarts.

The door swung open to reveal Ron's oldest brother Bill, a radiant Fleur at his side who immediately began fussing over a flustered Harry. They rushed to warm themselves by the fire where Molly stood ready with steaming mugs of cider and towels for drying. Harry glanced around the table at the seated members of the Order of the Phoenix. All were present, save Dumbledore and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Snape glowered at Harry from his seat in the corner, while Remus Lupin clapped him heartily on the back. But despite the smiles of greeting, he couldn't help but notice the atmosphere was even more somber than usual at 12 Grimmauld Place. Even Fred and George Weasley, only just sworn in as official Order members remained quiet and subdued, waiting for Dumbledore to appear.

Ash billowed out in a puffy cloud from the hearth and Kingsley Shacklebolt emerged from the fire, nodding hello while dusting his robes. He was soon followed by Albus, who despite his placid expression looked worn and weary from the tell tale dark circles under his eyes. He took his place at the table's head, deliberately not looking over at the conspicuously vacant seat at his right. He began without preamble.

"My friends, we are meeting tonight to discuss a course of action in order to free Minerva. After we have heard all of the intelligence thus far collected I welcome any additional comments or suggestions on achieving her safe return.

"Our suspicions as to Voldemort's whereabouts—and therefore Minerva's—have been confirmed. We know he is using the old Riddle Mansion, his ancestral home, as headquarters. However, a direct assault there would prove foolish if not impossible, which is why we have not acted sooner."

"Damn place is a fortress!" Alastor Moody interjected. "I've checked it over a thousand times—no way in."

"Alastor is correct, I'm afraid. There are anti-apparition charms in place around both the house and the grounds. Also, Severus has confirmed that there are monitor wards placed around Minerva herself, to detect and alert any alterations in her condition or location. We will have one opportunity to act, Saturday night. As you know, the three students taken from Hogsmeade were to be used for the performance of initiation rites for three new Death Eaters on Halloween night. As Minerva has taken their place, she will be present for the ritual.

"These initiations take place away from the Riddle house, held out of doors in a cemetery or a clearing deep in a forest where there is no chance of detection. There the pledges must prove their worthiness to Voldemort by performing the three Unforgivable Curses, beginning with Imperio, the Cruciatus, and finishing with Avada Kedavra. They then receive the Dark Mark on their forearms and swear an oath to the Dark Lord."

"Won't all the Death Eaters be present? How will we manage to get in there and get her out?" Tonks asked, intrigued.

"That is a good question, and we have a tentative plan. We do not know the location of the ceremony, as Severus himself will not learn it until summoned by the Dark Mark on that night."

Molly interrupted, concern in her voice, "We don't even know where it will be?"

"No, Molly, we do not. But we will. You see we have discovered the identity of one of the pledges."

"Who?" Fleur asked, speaking for the first time.

"Draco Malfoy."

**********************

"Lucius?" Minerva questioned in surprise. He was the last person she had expected, and his presence disconcerted her.

"It seems the Dark Lord discovered an old memory, Minerva. Imagine my surprise to learn that it involved me." He approached her slowly, with his characteristic overly confident swagger.

Minerva felt her blood ice, and her palms began to sweat as she immediately realized the incident he was referring to. She forced herself to stand her ground, but he had seen the change in her and laughed softly.

She stiffened as he ran a long finger down her cheek, whispering, "I see you remember that day as well as I." She began to retreat in spite of herself, and it did indeed feel as it did all those years ago. "You had me at a disadvantage then, Professor. But now," he caught her tightly by the wrist and jerked her towards him roughly, "now the advantage is mine."

"That must make you feel most courageous" she shot at him sarcastically.

"Oh indeed, it does." He was slowly walking her backwards, an awkward dance that ended with her backing into the hard edge of the desk.

She thought back to that time, when he had unsuccessfully attempted this before. She had been teaching only two years, and Lucius Malfoy had given her nothing but trouble. In his seventh year, he had grown even more arrogant, his cocky good looks and family wealth and connections making him bold, and in his mind untouchable and above the rules.

She was only ten years out of Hogwarts herself, and she shrugged off the many appraising looks she received from her hormone-driven teenage male students. They both exasperated and amused her, and always when she caught them staring their faces invariably crimsoned and their eyes cast quickly downward, suddenly finding the floor more interesting to study than their beautiful Transfiguration teacher. There was one exception. Lucius Malfoy.

She had been meaning to speak to Albus about his lewd and often inappropriate behavior, but she feared sounding vain and silly, and didn't want him to think that she couldn't handle problem students on her own, so she'd said nothing.

Then one day as she sat in her empty classroom going over the next day's lesson plans he had slipped in unnoticed. As she turned to reach for her quill to make an additional note to her third years' application directions she saw him standing a few feet from her desk. "Can I help you with something, Mr. Malfoy?"

He watched her for a moment before answering, "I am having trouble with my Transfiguration essay."

"Well? What is the problem you are having?" She took a deep, calming breath, trying to swallow her dislike for the young Slytherin.

"I'm having trouble with a calculation. You see, I copied down the elemental charts, but I can't seem to get the timing right."

"Perhaps you made an error while translating it from the blackboard. Do you have the chart? Let me look it over for you."

He smiled at her and handed over the roll of parchment. He came to stand behind her, leaning close over her shoulder as she unrolled the paper. She shifted a little, uncomfortable at his proximity. Her eyes widened in horror as she looked at a diagram that was clearly a drawing of her in a profoundly crude position on her desk with another figure she presumed to be Malfoy. She pushed her chair back abruptly, knocking him aside and causing her wand to roll across the desk and onto the floor. Shaking with embarrassment and rage she rounded on him. "How dare you!" Her Scottish brogue becoming more pronounced with her anger. "_How dare you_!"

He continued to leer at her, unperturbed. "I was trying to calculate how long it would take me to get you into that position." He was advancing toward her, oblivious to the green eyes flashing daggers at him. "Care to help me find out?"

Where was her wand? The seventh circle of Hell would seem pleasant to the cheeky little bastard when she got through with him. In her fury she swung her hand at his face, striking hard across his jaw. He grabbed her hand, twisting her arm behind her shoving her face down onto her desk.

"You dare strike me? I am a_ Malfoy_!" He crouched over her menacingly. "I shall have to teach you your place, Professor…" but she was gone. A striped silver tabby cat had leapt off the desk and jumped to the floor, a wand in its mouth.

The cat stretched and rose until a formidable witch stood before him. Her black hair had escaped from its bun and her ire was causing unbridled magic to ripple through the air around them, hair and robes blowing in the wind it was creating. Lucius Malfoy seemed to shrink in her growing presence, stepping back from her desk, and slowly retreating while she stood flashing gloriously like some grand Scottish version of the Roman goddess she was named for. She had hexed him. Hexed a student. He had such a case of boils head to toe, nether regions included—that it had taken Poppy three weeks to sort him out all the while vowing to expel the student responsible if ever she discovered who it was. Afterward he had scraped flobberworm dung by hand every night for a month in detention with Argus Filch overseeing. Neither had spoken of the incident since.

Until now. "You know Minerva," he was saying, "I remember clearly the way you looked, your hair undone, robes billowing around you, unrestrained magic creating an electrical storm in the classroom. I have never forgotten it. It only increased my desire, I have only wanted you more." She was trapped between him and the cold, heavy desk behind her. "And as you have no wand, I will at last teach you your place."

******************

"Draco? Lucius Malfoy's son?" Molly was aghast. "He isn't of age yet, Albus—would they really let him become a full fledged Death Eater?"

"They're Death Eaters, Molly, not Sunday School Teachers!" Moody reminded her sharply.

"I'm sorry to say it is true. Harry overheard him bragging to some of his friends that he would indeed become a Death Eater Halloween night. He even has the preliminary markings on his forearm. Fortunately for Mr. Malfoy, he will not be attending and therefore will not be able to fulfill his pledge."

"One of us will take his place. He cannot apparate to the site, it would be detected by the Ministry as he is underage. Therefore, he is to meet another Death Eater outside of Hogsmeade where a port key has been set up. We will follow him there, disarm them, and take the port key to the ceremony. A tracer will be placed and the rest of us will be able to follow shortly via apparition."

"We need two volunteers, one to impersonate Draco Malfoy, and someone for the Death Eater sent to meet him." He held his hands up to silence them, as everyone began to speak at once. "Understand, this is very dangerous. Especially for the one taking the Death Eater's identity. You will be wearing the cloak and mask, and it will be difficult if not impossible to distinguish you from the others should battle ensue.

"Furthermore, whoever passes as Draco must be prepared to perform any tasks required of them until the other Order members arrive for reinforcement. This could likely include performing acts of torture—possibly on Minerva herself. It is imperative that anyone undercover not give away their true identities before the appropriate time. If cover is breached, the entire mission will end in disaster."

Remus nodded. "I will play the role of the Death Eater."

"Then I will go as Malfoy!" Tonks added immediately, taking Lupin's hand in her own.

"I'm afraid we need a young man, Nymphadora," Dumbledore said kindly. "Draco will be called upon to speak, it is certain, and we need to make his double as plausible as we can."

"I'll do it!" Fred, George, Harry and Ron spoke at once.

Professor McGonagall had always been the twins' favorite teacher, despite their knack for mischief and her strict punishments.

"Headmaster, if I may, I feel that Potter is the best choice." All eyes turned to Snape in shocked surprise.

"Go ahead, Severus, we are listening." Albus said, quietly. He too felt, Harry the best choice, but his instincts to protect the boy warred with his reasoning.

"Potter has had the most interaction with young Malfoy, and although his skills at occlumency are minimal at best, he has had some conditioning against legilimens. He has also been face to face with the Dark Lord more than once, and managed to keep his head."

Harry looked at him dumbfounded. Thought perfectly willing to accept any mission that Dumbledore may assign him, he was not prepared to receive what was in all appearance a _compliment_ from Severus Snape. He met Dumbledore's eyes. "I can do it, Professor."

"Very well. The rest of us will follow the tracing charm I will place upon the port key. We will divide into two teams. The first will arrive slightly outside of the meeting site, while the second will attempt to apparate directly into the ceremonial ring itself. As soon as we have Minerva safe and secured, I shall cast a Patronus signaling everyone to return to designated safe areas.

"We need to have a third team waiting at the return site to help provide cover upon the return from battle, in case anyone is followed. Once everyone is back, we will immediately retreat inside the gates of Hogwarts, and safety." He stopped and waited for questions. When no one spoke, he continued.

"Remus and Harry will take the portkey to the Initiation site. Alastor, Bill, and myself, will attempt to infiltrate directly, while Nymphadora, Fred and George will assault the perimeter.

"Kingsley, Molly, Fleur, and Hagrid—I would like to act as guards around the school gate, to provide any necessary protection for those returning to the school. I will need everyone to meet at Hogwarts Saturday evening in my office. I will arrange for access via the floo network—"

"Excuse me, Professor Dumbledore, but where would you like Ron and I to be?" Hermione interrupted. She and Ron were looking at him expectantly.

"Yeah, no way we are going to sit around while Harry and everyone else goes to fight." Ron chimed in.

Dumbledore smiled at them. "No, I don't suppose I could keep you from coming along if I tried. The two of you may help guard the school gates." His eyes regained their customary twinkle for the first time since Minerva's absence.

"Now then, we have a great many details to work out."

It was very early morning when the weary Order members left Grimmauld Place, their plans and minds determined.

*******************

Minerva clutched at her abdomen, lying twisted and bleeding on the cold stone floor. She felt as though her insides had been shredded and ripped from her body. Lucius had taken her with a cruel brutality she had not yet experienced even from Voldemort himself. When he had finally left her naked and quivering in agony in the darkened cell she could taste the blood from her bleeding lip when he had beaten her into a humble submission.

She did not even raise her head when the door opened once again and a faint light appeared from the hallway beyond. She lay there hoping whomever the tormentor was would believe her dead or unconscious and leave her in peace until morning.

"Minerva?"

She opened her eyes at the familiar voice. "Severus?" she questioned, her voice weak and hollow.

A light appeared on the far wall, and Severus inhaled sharply at the site of her. Minerva lay naked in the fetal position, her pale skin covered with bruises and drying blood from numerous cuts and what appeared to be lash marks.

He rushed to her side, took off his cloak and wrapped it gently around her trembling form. She attempted to pull herself into a sitting position, but dropped back sharply, gasping in pain, her hands clutching at a spot below her ribcage. He gently lifted her off the floor and drew her into his arms. She shocked him by laying her head into his shoulder, sobs drenching his robes. He held her close to him, seated on the floor in this way for what seemed an interminable amount of time, as her shaking body slowly calmed and her tears stopped. He rocked her gently like a child, unfamiliar with how to go about soothing her pain. It was not a task he was comfortable with, and he was relieved when she quieted and whispered a soft "Thank you."

She had not meant to fall apart this way. But she had not felt the comfort of a friend in such a long time and hadn't thought that she ever would again. She had taught herself to accept and endure torture unflinchingly, but then Severus's unexpected and simple act of kindness had overwhelmed her battered spirit so that all of her bottled up pain and fears rose up overflowing, and she was powerless to stop it. "I'm sorry, Severus. I didn't mean to carry on so."

She raised her head a little off his chest, but did not pull away from his arms. She felt so fragile to him, and that struck him somewhere deep inside, for he had never before thought of Minerva McGonagall as fragile. He knew that she was not as strict and unyielding as she liked people to believe she was. He had seen her cry before, many times. He had seen and heard many kindnesses she had performed or spoken when she thought no one knew. He had been witness to her standing boldly and alone in defense of the truth, in representation of the weak. He had watched her defy the Dark Lord, never breaking, even under countless applications of the Cruciatus Curse.

He had always had the utmost respect for the Transfiguration Mistress, though he would not have admitted it to many people. She swept through life with a certainty and ease enviable to a man who had never quite fit. She was confident, capable, and consistent. Consistent. That was the word he was looking for. Minerva was as solid and dependable as the foundation of Hogwarts itself. A woman of profound strength and unshakable character. Holding her now he felt extremely unworthy to be the one from which she sought solace.

"I don't have much time, Minerva. An hour or so is all. I have a message from Dumbledore."

"Albus? He must be so angry with me," she sighed softly.

"On the contrary, but he is rather lost without you. He said to tell you he is coming for you. He wants you to hold on."

"He can't come, Severus. Tell him not to come. He'll be trapped here. I don't want him hurt, I don't want everything we've worked for lost because of me…"she was crying silently again.

"Minerva," he said firmly, "We are going to get you out of here. There is a plan, you will be out of here soon, I promise."

"I'll be ready. Severus?"

"Yes?"

"Tell Albus I'm sorry. And that I love him."

He nodded, his arms still wrapped tightly around her. "May I have a look over your injuries? I could try and heal the worst of them."

"No. He would know and it would only be worse. Just stay here with me until you have to go."

"Minerva what did he—"

"Don't ask me, lad. It is soon enough that I will relive it in the morning. Suffice it to say I believe I might rather endure another night of the Cruciatus Curse than one hour with Lucius Malfoy."

"Bloody bastard. Minerva…I…the other night when…well I was one of them to hit you with—"

"I know. You were the last to perform the curse. You had to, Severus. It's all right."

"You knew who I was? How?"

"Your mask looked a bit more sullen than the others," she said dryly.

"Oh. I am sorry."

She just nodded.

He shifted her away from him gently, and pulled a vial from a pocket inside his robes. He handed her the potion. "I need you to drink this."

"What is it?"

"It will cause the Dark Lord to believe that I harmed you tonight, when he performs legilimens."

Obediently she drank the vial's contents and handed him back the empty tube. She felt exhaustion overtake her, and lay back against his shoulder. "Tell Albus I don't know how much longer…" he heard her say as she drifted off to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13 Confessions

a/n: I have often thought how horrible it must be for Severus to play the double agent, and the toll it must take upon him emotionally to have to participate in acts of atrocity to avoid blowing his cover, so I hope this chapter doesn't seem too out of character for him.

thanks everyone who has been sticking with this!

Chapter 13, Confessions

Severus waited until he was sure that the witch in his arms was sleeping deeply before gently extracting her from his embrace and placing her on a makeshift pallet he had transfigured from her torn, blood-soiled robes. He watched her for a time, wondering if the potion had begun to take effect. At the moment she appeared to be slumbering peacefully, and didn't stir as his hand softly brushed a stray raven tendril from her forehead.

His jaw set in a hard line as he gazed down at her battered body. The dried blood and purple bruises leaped up at him sharply, contrasting vividly against her ivory skin, and bearing undisputable testimony to Lucius Malfoy's vicious cruelty. He would make him pay for his violent treatment of her—provided Albus Dumbledore didn't reach him first.

Minerva moaned and began to thrash about in her sleep, and Severus knew the false memories she had ingested were manifesting in her subconscious mind. "I'm sorry, Minerva," he whispered quietly, taking his leave of her. He paused at the door, charming her blankets and pillow to vanish when the door to her cell opened from the outside, lest that insufferable coward Peter Pettigrew should see the bed and grow suspicious. She was crying out now, begging an unseen offender to leave her be. Severus shut the door behind him, swallowing his guilt and telling himself that it would all be over soon.

The sun was slowly lighting the eastern sky when he returned to Hogwarts. He knew he should seek a few hours respite before braving the day—but he knew the sleep he sought would elude him. Not yet wishing to be alone with his thoughts he bypassed the passage leading to his quarters deep beneath the castle and headed up the stairs to Dumbledore's tower, seeking company.

Upon admittance to the Headmaster's office he found Albus Dumbledore as he'd known he would—awake and despondent, his troubled thoughts torturing him with insomnia.

"Severus," was all the old wizard said in greeting, motioning him absently to a seat across from him. He was staring thoughtfully at his chess board, but Severus knew that the unfinished game was far from the Headmaster's mind.

Unable to tolerate the uneasy silence, he spoke. "I saw her, Headmaster," he said simply.

Dumbledore nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"She is growing weaker. She is incredibly thin, and she has sustained a great many—injuries." He chose this last word carefully. "I passed along your message." Still Dumbledore did not speak, and so he went on. "She was adamant that she not be rescued. She does not wish for any Order members to be placed at risk to save her. She is especially concerned for your safety. I made it clear to her that there wasn't a chance in Hell that we would leave her there." He lapsed into silence as well, knowing he had to say more, but waiting for the right words to come.

Dumbledore called his house elf for two cups of strong, black coffee. This time it was he who broke the quiet between them, searching out the younger man's eyes. "Will she last until tomorrow night, Severus?"

Snape swallowed, the hot liquid scalding his throat. The pain was oddly comforting; tangible and real, somehow balancing the scales of worry and guilt he was feeling. "I don't know, Headmaster," he answered at last. "I honestly don't know." He took another sip of coffee. "As I said, she is growing weaker. She has not been eating the meals provided her. The cell where she is being kept is freezing cold, and the tortures…I don't know anyone who has survived that many hits of the Cruciatus Curse. The Dark Lord has been tormenting her with legilimens aside from other…abuses…by himself and certain Death Eaters."

"Severus, you can just say it, lad. I know Minerva is being raped. You don't have to dance around the issue for my sake."

"It is a hard thing to come out and say. It seems easier to avoid speaking the actual words." He answered slowly.

"Calling a thing what it is, no matter how ugly, helps to not diminish the act. It allows us to face it, and thereby overcome." Dumbledore responded, not unkindly.

Severus drained the remaining coffee from the cup. "I had my turn with her last night. After Lucius Malfoy." He fought to keep the tone of his voice neutral. "She was in quite a bad state when I found her. He had beaten her—she was bruised and bleeding all over, clutching at her lower abdomen. She had marks on her back where he had whipped her with something, a belt perhaps. She wouldn't let me heal any of her wounds, she was afraid the Dark Lord would find out I had helped her."

He looked at Dumbledore intently, and the old wizard's face held a mixture of anger and sorrow. After a long pause, he spoke. "I have long wondered what was between Minerva and Lucius Malfoy. Something happened in his seventh year. He was hexed with a ferociously painful set of boils, and I always believed Minerva was responsible, thought neither she nor Lucius ever came forward to confess anything. I never brought the subject up, nor did she. Through the years there has always been a sort of seething, unrequited animosity between them."

"Whatever happened, Headmaster, he sought his revenge on her last night. She wouldn't talk about it, but told me she had rather endure another night of the Cruciatus than an hour with Malfoy."

Dumbledore's knuckles were white, gripping the mug in his hand tightly, and there was a dark, dangerous flash in his eyes, but otherwise he maintained an outward calm.

"It is going to get worse, Headmaster. The Dark Lord has realized that he cannot break her will through physical torture. He is changing his tactics to that of the psychological; fear, pain, despair."

Albus pressed his eyes tightly shut, sending his beloved Minerva silent, mental prayers of strength and comfort. When he opened them again, the blue orbs stared directly into Snape's inky black ones. "What else, Severus? What is it you are not telling me?"

Severus sighed. He had been debating the wisdom of telling the Headmaster of his wife's emotional break down. He wanted him to know, but did not wish to cause him any further pain than the dry facts were already inflicting upon him. "She…she fell apart when she saw me. She clung to me for ages, weeping like a child. She told me to tell you she doesn't know how much longer she can hold on." This time it was Snape who was struggling for control. "Seeing her…Minerva…like that. It was hard to take in."

Dumbledore reached out and laid a comforting hand on the younger man's arm. "Minerva is the strongest woman I have ever known. She is brave, loyal, fiercely intelligent, and kind. She tries hard not to show it, but she is also deeply caring and emotional. It is this oft concealed vulnerability that is both her greatest strength and weakness. Voldemort knows this, and he will exploit it in any way he can. But he underestimates Minerva's strength, and the love within her that fuels it."

Severus nodded in acknowledgement. He did not think less of Minerva for her tears. But it pained him to see _her_, who was so staunchly _Gryffindor_, letting her guard down and openly allowing him to see her suffering. It touched him in a way he had rarely known, for he was unused to being trusted so implicitly, even by those few who claimed his friendship. Somehow he felt that the Headmaster understood this feeling.

There was one more piece of information to share. "I planted a false memory in her before I left. When the Dark Lord performs legilimens, he will believe that I ravaged her as well. Minerva herself will not be sure whether the rape actually happened or if it was merely a nightmare. My hope is that it will distract him from detecting my offering her hope regarding our plan of rescue."

Dumbledore concurred. "Let us hope so."


	14. Chapter 14 Strength Part 1

Chapter 14, Strength Part 1

"Professor? Professor McGonagall?"

She opened her eyes slowly, trying to focus them as the dim light accosted her overwrought senses. She recoiled instinctively at the unwelcome sight of Peter Pettigrew bent closely over her. The movement was a mistake, the sudden jolt sent seizures of pain across her abdomen, causing her to curl tightly in on herself much as a wounded animal will do when trying to protect itself from further injury.

"He wants you to come to him."

"That may be easier said than done," she muttered, as she struggled to force herself upright. Every movement sent sharp, stabbing pains through her torso, and she feared she had more than one broken rib. The pain radiated excruciatingly, meeting with the tight, raw burning of the flayed skin on her back where Malfoy had mercilessly struck her over and over again with a thin leather strap.

Minerva hesitated momentarily before accepting Pettigrew's offered arm of assistance, choking down her pride and dislike for him with marked effort. She stood swaying precariously with one arm gripping tightly to his, the other doing the double duty of holding her tattered robes in place about her and pressing firmly into her ribcage. Slowly he led her to the steps descending into the filling bath tub in the center of the room. He glanced questioningly at her, and she weakly said, "You may go. I will manage."

Pettigrew drew his wand, pointing it at the marble steps of the tub. A handrail materialized leading from the level surface of the floor down into the water's depths. "Thank you," she surprised them both by saying. When he exited her chamber she leaned heavily on the railing he had conjured for her and slowly made her way down into the warm, fragrant waters of the bath, hissing sharply as they lapped up, making contact with the raw wounds on her back. The stinging sensations gradually subsided as she fully immersed herself and she closed her eyes, contemplating the situation.

Severus had said that there was a plan in motion to get her out of this hell that had become her life. At least she thought so. She tried to recall the events of last night, after Lucius had left her. Lucius. She shuddered, and willed herself to block him from her mind, knowing that in a short time Tom would gleefully force her to relive every agonizing moment. She needed to focus. Severus. What had happened with Severus? She felt sure that he had been there. "Concentrate, Minerva!" she scolded herself, aloud. Bit by bit it came to her; him finding her on the floor, how she had wept uncontrollably in his arms, his uncharacteristic gentleness. Their conversation began to replay in her mind. Albus—Albus was coming for her. She had to hold on until he came.

There was something else, something lurking in the back of her mind: something elusive and disquieting. Then she remembered the potion. He had said it would make the Dark Lord believe he had harmed her. Severus had given her a false memory. A cover. She had learned in her auror training that one could use occlumency to manipulate as well as shield an invasion from a legilimens. Well, she thought ruefully, she would be hard pressed not to dwell on the horrors of her time with Malfoy, and Merlin only knew what Severus had concocted and planted in her mind.

Bracingly she gripped the handrail and with much effort managed to extract herself from the tub. Gazing in the mirror she took in the visible damage. She was a frightful mess. Gingerly she fingered the large purple-green bruise that stretched ominously across her right cheek, and then the livid red gash above her eyebrow. Slipping the green silk robes carefully over her shoulders she cringed as the soft fabric made contact with the angry red welts on her back. The robes were hanging more loosely now, as her frame waxed gaunter with each passing day. As she stared at the ghostly, broken woman before her in the glass she whispered, "Hurry, Albus. My love, I fear my strength is running out."

As if on cue the door opened and Pettigrew's nervous form entered. She stiffened at the pity she saw in his eyes, she mustn't show so much weakness. Drawing herself up as straightly as she could manage, she set her lips in a thin, determined line. "I shall go to him without assistance, Pettigrew," she said in the most strict, unwavering voice she could muster.

He bobbed his head, but did not move from the entrance, ready to steady her if she fell. With a sheer force of will she swept by him, only a tad more slowly and just a little less gracefully than he remembered her exiting her classroom in his boyhood days at Hogwarts. No doubt about it, Professor Minerva McGonagall was a marvel. But even with all her grit and determination, he knew she was beginning to break. He shook his head sadly as he watched her disappear down the dimly lit hallway. The Dark Lord always gained victory, and her stubborn resistance was only prolonging the inevitable. It was all well and good to have principals and valor, and all of the other Gryffindor traits he had long since abandoned, selling his soul to the devil himself for the ultimate protection of being on the winning side in the end.

In school, she had been his favorite teacher. She was tough, challenging, and untouchable; and he would never have achieved animagus at such a young age—perhaps not at all, had it not been for her. She had balked at the idea at first, training the three unruly boys to reach animagus without them being officially registered with the Ministry. But Dumbledore had convinced her, and her soft spot for Remus Lupin ultimately changed her mind, and she had given them private instruction. She had become a surrogate mother of sorts to Remus, Sirius, and himself; three boys who were scorned and ignored by their own families. James Potter even began to regard her as a second parent while he was away from home, and exasperated her with the same mischievous knack for trouble that Mrs. Potter had had to endure during his childhood.

But what Peter had loved most about his Transfiguration Mistress and Head of House was her unwavering fairness. She treated all her students equitably regardless of the House they belonged to. She did not distinguish between the gifted or the slow, as she gave instruction and protection to all. And to a boy who had always been among the weak and the slow, her kindness had meant a lot. "A little lump of a boy" he had heard her refer to him once. The seeming slight did not bother him, for he was shrewd, and had learned at an early age that the weak could achieve protection and power by aligning themselves with the strong. He had done so; James and Sirius being the most popular and promising Hogwarts had to offer in his years. Later, when Voldemort rose to power and the Order of the Phoenix suffered casualty after casualty he had seen the proverbial handwriting on the wall—and it had been easy to switch sides. His was a law of self-preservation. Yes, he had felt a twinge of guilt when James and Lily were killed, and another when he had framed Sirius Black and landed him in Azkaban for what was supposed to be the rest of his life. But Peter Pettigrew had to fend for himself, and chose his paths accordingly.

It pained him slightly that she who had always treated him with kindness and a little pity now regarded him with loathing disdain. She wondered how the likes of him had ever been sorted into Gryffindor House. He wondered that himself, at times. But she would come around, the Dark Lord would bend and break her into submission and she would understand his reasons of betrayal, even if she would never forgive him for it. Still, it was a cause for sadness to see a woman of McGonagall's caliber reduced to such nothingness. He tucked these thoughts away and shuffled off into the darkness.

********

She paused just outside the open doors to the library, trying to steady her ragged breathing. She was paying dearly for her show of courage for Pettigrew's benefit, and her body was now protesting within her loudly. Her and her damned bloody pride, it would be the end of her one day, she inwardly chided herself. Tom's back was to her, and she spoke as she entered, knowing she could not avoid him much longer, "You wished to see me? I am sorry to keep you waiting. I had certain matters to attend to."

He stifled a smile, as he turned toward her—the acerbic sarcasm in her voice cutting through the still air breaking into his silence. "Minerva, my dear, you look like hell. Rough night?" he said smoothly, his cold gaze taking her in.

She did not answer, but raised her chin defiantly and it seemed that she rose a little taller; the only sign of pain a dark shadow that moved within her green eyes.

"Come closer, love." He was enjoying the game, and would make her work hard to conceal the extent of her injuries. She could not keep up the charade indefinitely, and she staggered slightly as she moved closer to him, involuntarily grasping her side for a moment. He allowed himself a grim smile now, for he knew her show of weakness pained her more than her many corporal afflictions. When he lifted her hair and ran a glacial, bony hand down her back she inhaled sharply, crying out. He continued to stroke her back, probing the raised lines beneath the fabric of her robes with his deft fingers. She made no further sound of protest, but her breathing changed, becoming sharp and rapid, and tears were starting to stream silently from her eyes.

"Do you want me to stop, love? Am I hurting you?" Still, she said nothing and he delved further into the lacerations, reopening them and warm, dark blood began to soak through the fabric, gluing it to her skin. He could feel her trembling under his fingers, the tears still falling but she would not open her mouth to speak. He inched closely behind her until he could feel the sticky warmth of her blood against his abdomen, his mouth hovering at her ear. "I can heal your wounds, love. But you must ask. All you have to do is ask."

Mutely she shook her head. His thumb moved lightly over her bruised cheek, and then his fingers began to caress her neck softly. He moved his hands downward as she trembled, lingering over her breasts, then to her waist. When his hands stopped at her slender ribcage he pressed in, and she doubled over inside his arms.

"Ah, that hurts, doesn't it?" Slowly he increased the pressure, squeezing tightly until all color drained from her face and she went limp, his hands still encircling her, keeping her from toppling over. He released her, and she fell to the floor with a dull thud.

He traced the lines of Malfoy's beating down her back, raising his crimson stained fingers to his lips, his desire increasing as he tasted the salty mix of perspiration and blood. He turned her roughly, rolling her onto her back. Placing the tip of his wand to her forehead, he commanded, "Rennervate."

Minerva's head jerked back and her eyes opened taking on a glazed, unfocused look. He cast the spell again, and she began to come back to herself, through the foggy mist of exhaustion and pain. He would have to go slowly, he realized if he were to keep her lucid until he was finished with her.

He bent over her, stroking her tear-dampened cheek. She turned her face away from him, but the fear in her green eyes momentarily betrayed her. "Tell me, love, how did you come to obtain these many abrasions?"

Minerva lay, still as death, fighting for control of the fear welling inside her. She must regain control. She _must. _It was not fear of more physical harm or torture. It was fear of herself, of her frailty and weaknesses. That she wanted desperately to acquiesce and give in to him, to rest and be at peace. And she could not. She could _not_. He would not win, she vowed. Not against her, she would die first. Pressing her lips tightly she turned her face to his, her mouth remaining silent but her eyes issuing a challenge to him, defying him to do his best, that her soul would remain unconquered. Minerva McGonagall would not be broken.

Thank you, Thank you all for reading this, and all of the lovely reviews! I really appreciate it from the bottom of my heart.

(And a special thank you to SylvaDragon, whose information will allow me to finally finish this story:)

Strength Part 2

_Albus was standing over her, white beard gleaming against purple and silver robes, his face hidden in the shadows of the light. Relief washed over her. "Albus?" she called to him._

_He bent closer to her. She screamed. It wasn't Albus Dumbledore at all, she was looking into the cold eyes of Gellert Grindelwald. "To the victor go the spoils," his voice fell sharp and heavy on her ears. _

_"Where is Dumbledore?" She was confused. Where was she? The ground felt hard and damp beneath her, and she was aware of a gray, murky sky threatening to storm above her. She was in a field, she realized suddenly, as she shifted her weight to ease off of a stone pressing into her spine. She had been here before, Austria? Germany? This had happened before, but something wasn't right. Something was different this time. She heard Grindelwald speaking to her._

_"Albus? Why he is lying over there, my dear. He is dead."_

_"No!"_

_"Oh yes, I am afraid he is indeed. And now, I shall make you wish that you were." He began unfastening the broach that held her outer cloak together at the base of her throat._

_She heard a moan. Albus! She could see him moving out of the corner of her eye. "Gellert!" he yelled, wand drawn. But he was too late, Grindelwald had seen him too. Green light shot from the end of his wand, and Minerva screamed as she watched the light leave Albus's blue eyes, and his head drop lifeless to the ground. _

_"Albus" she whimpered, hot tears blurring her vision, sobs racking her nineteen year-old body. Grindelwald laughed harshly, as he moved to reap his spoils. _

**No. No, this isn't right, she told herself. This isn't how it happened. Dumbledore won that duel—it was Grindelwald that lay fallen in the sleet those years ago. It was Albus who had gently woken her and scooped her bleeding body into his strong arms and carried her to safety. Albus was alive. _He was alive_.**

**She sensed the dark presence of Tom Riddle and fought against him for control of her memories, her imagination. She felt herself falling, faster and faster and shut her eyes tightly before she hit bottom…**

_She was in the muggle house in London. Tom was advancing towards her menacingly, blocking her view of the young couple lying dead on the floor, mouths gaped open in horror, soaked in growing puddles of their own blood. The little girl with blonde curls pressed her wet face into the back of Minerva's knees, her hands holding tightly to her black auror robes. Her wand was useless on the floor out of reach. The curses flew from his wand, hurtling her backwards onto the floor, blood rising in her throat and oozing out of her. She was aware of the little girl's unseeing eyes, the teddy bear she was holding lying between them. _

_Alastor was standing in the doorway, curses flying over her as he and Tom vied for victory. Alastor's face contorted in pain, he dropped to his knees. She tried to raise herself, but the rapid loss of blood left her weak and unable to move. His eyes twitched, his mouth opened but no sound came. He fell, and lay still._

_"Minerva," Tom was speaking to her. "They will all pay for your betrayal. One by one, you will see them pay."_

_"Alastor..no.." she tried to say, but the sounds came as a gurgle. She began to vomit, dark coffee colored blood…_

**"He lived!" she breathed. "Alastor lived…"**

_She screamed, gripping the corners of the heavy oak desk she was prostrate across, her breasts pressing into the aged, worn wood. She jerked, her back arching on impulse as the narrow leather strap cracked against her broken skin. "Please—" she begged, unable to endure the lashing any longer. "Please-"_

_He struck her harder. She felt as though she was suffocating, the crushing ache in her side and the burning in her chest acknowledging the ribs that splintered as a pointed boot had made swift contact, puncturing a lung. A strong, smooth hand gripped her shoulder, flipping her violently onto her back. Her vision blackened for a moment, when her hot, torn flesh made contact with the cool desk, becoming slippery from her blood._

_He had pulled his long, pale blonde hair into a ponytail to keep it out of the way. She wished it was down, to cover his face as he took her. She didn't want to see those cruel, gray eyes—or the smug smile of satisfaction._

_Suddenly it was Severus who was on top of her, not on the transfigured oaken desk of her classroom but on the cold stone floor of her cell. "Severus—no! No, please…"_

_But Snape was gone. The inky black eyes were replaced by the narrow red slits of Tom Riddle. His mouth was twisting into a smile as he ran his hands over her shivering body. They were back in the field in Austria, and she was surrounded. They closed in on her, Riddle, Malfoy, Snape, Crabbe, Goyle, Pettigrew, and Grindelwald. Albus's body was no longer there, instead Alastor Moody lay, eyes opened and unfeeling to the cold mix of rain and snow falling into them. _

_Then she noticed him. Albus Dumbledore was standing silently in the back ground, looking on as her tormentors had their way. "Albus, help me!" she pleaded. He turned cold blue eyes to hers, his face stony and grim. "Please, Albus," her voice desperate._

_The look on his face was one of revulsion. "You are nothing but a common whore, Minerva. They have all had their use of you," he gestured at the men crouched around her. "I wash my hands of you." And he turned his back._

_She could no longer feel the pains of her body. The agony of her heart seemed to consume her in one giant, black hole, as her heart splintered and shattered within her at the cold indifference of his words. _

**"No! This isn't real," she shouted, choking back her sobs. She couldn't see anything as the room spun around her. The serpent face of Voldemort the only clear object in the room, his warped visage only inches from hers. "Albus wouldn't…he wouldn't…he loves me…"**

**"Then where is he, love? Where is your all-mighty husband?" He sneered at her, his words cutting into her like broken shards of glass. "He doesn't want you anymore, love. You are no longer pristine, we have soiled you—and a soiled, worthless whore won't do for the venerable Albus Dumbledore. He has abandoned you. Why don't you just make the best of it, and surrender?"**

**"No. Albus…" her voice broke when she said his name. "Albus knows I only…" She was falling again. The lines began to blur between past and present, pleasure and pain, dreams and reality.** _She felt his mouth cover hers, her arms raised above her head, body shivering under her muddy robes as a mixed crowd of Death Eaters, nazis, students, and wizards who had followed Grindelwald looked on. But the face that she saw as she closed her eyes against the cold, sleeting rain was her husband's, regarding her with filthy loathing and disgust._

********************

Dumbledore's office was quite crowded at the moment. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were there, as well as Hagrid, Snape, and Remus. It was Friday, but felt like a weekend to Harry as Dumbledore had excused the trio from their classes and allowed them a much needed lie in, as no one in the Order had gotten any sleep the night before.

It didn't matter. There was palpable energy in the room, charged and fueled by purpose. Harry observed silently how the Headmaster seemed again like the powerful wizard he was, capable and in control, not as lost and old as he had been over the last long week. It occurred to Harry that he had not noticed before the closeness between the Headmaster and his Deputy. He knew they were friends, and one was not often seen without the other. And McGonagall was Dumbledore's staunchest, most outspoken supporter. How he had longed for her to go wand to wand with that awful toad Dolores Umbridge! Harry thought she might have, had she not been attacked unarmed and hit almost fatally by four direct stunners to the chest. That she had survived the near fatal attack gave Harry hope. If she were strong enough to recover from that, he reasoned, perhaps she could survive Voldemort. He hoped so. For her sake, and that of Hogwarts and especially, Albus Dumbledore.

After the knowledge of their secret union had sunk in, it seemed obvious to him that they must have been husband and wife. The snap shot memories of the fleeting glances, open smiles, and subtle tenderness between them fell into place in his mind like so many pieces of a jigsaw puzzle finally coming together in a beautiful picture of love, unity, and strength. Not for the first time he marveled at how little he actually knew about his Professors. All powerful witches and wizards in their own right, but to him in his small minded way he had never thought further about their lives outside of the teaching and protection of students. That had begun to change with Sirius's death, he had learned that there isn't always enough time with someone you love. That they could be taken from you, and all you would have left to hold onto was the memories and love in your heart. He had grown up that last year at Hogwarts, had imperceptibly crossed the final line between innocence and maturity, childhood to adult.

There were similarities he shared with Minerva McGonagall. Things he hadn't known, nor would ever have ventured to guess. Of all his teachers she had seemed the least mysterious: on the contrary, she was the most consistent, straightforward of all. Transfiguration, Quidditch, and propriety, summed up Professor McGonagall. How wrong he had been. He couldn't help feel a little guilty about his assumptions, not that he had ever thought badly about his Professor and Head of House, he just hadn't really thought about her at all. And she had done a lot for him, sacrificed, for them all. She had lost her family at the hands of dark wizards, too. She also had a disturbing history with Voldemort, and like Harry, she had been at his mercy more than once.

He wondered if she knew how much her students appreciated her. How the Order members admired her. How they all cared about her. Well, if they survived tomorrow night, he would make sure that she at least knew that he did.

"Harry?" Dumbledore spoke, breaking him from his thoughts.

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry mumbled, casting his eyes downwards, "I guess my mind wandered." He was always embarrassed when he blundered in front of Dumbledore.

"Quite all right, Harry. Have a lemon drop," he said, eyes twinkling, handing him a tin full of the hard yellow candies.

"As I was saying," Dumbledore continued, "we need to go over as best we can the possible scenarios you may be faced with tomorrow night. Remus and Severus will both be present, but they will be able to help you very little if at all, once you begin the initiation. We need to discuss what you might reasonably expect to happen, and how you yourself will be expected to react. You must also remember, that you are reacting as Draco Malfoy would, and not as Harry Potter." The twinkle faded, replaced with a different, more serious light. "You are going to be asked to do things that are wrong, Harry. And as hard as they may be, you are going to have to do them." He placed a strong, comforting hand on Harry's shoulder.

"I understand. I think I can cast the Imperios Curse okay, but the Cruciatus, last year when I tried—" he swallowed hard and Dumbledore nodded his understanding, thankfully cutting him off.

"Yes, Voldemort was right, Harry. You do have to mean it, for the curse to work. You have to want it, but there are different ways and reasons for wanting things, are there not?"

"I don't understand what you mean, Professor," Harry said respectfully. He was glad that Dumbledore had stopped him from admitting to his unsuccessful attempt to curse Bellatrix Lestrange at the Department of Mysteries. Ron and Hermione knew of course, but he wasn't exactly proud that he had tried to curse someone with an unforgivable, even one as vile as Bellatrix.

"I think I know what you mean!" Hermione piped up. "You mean that Harry can use a desire to use the curse to free Professor McGonagall rather than because he wishes to cause pain on someone, and that the spell will be just as effective."

"Yes, Miss Granger, you are indeed correct." Dumbledore smiled at her, and she blushed. "You can channel a desire to perform the spell because it is necessary, not only because you wish to harm. It is yet another power that Tom Riddle does not know about, because he can not understand it."

"But what if they want me to curse Professor McGonagall?" He really didn't know if he could do that.

"You may want to talk to Professor Snape about that, Harry," Dumbledore said softly, his voice ripe with compassion. Snape turned a deeper shade of pale as all eyes swiveled towards him, but his expression remained neutral and he said nothing. "I think you will find that as distasteful and painful as it may be to you and Professor McGonagall, that we must sometimes perform unpleasant and despicable acts to achieve the higher, greater goal." Dumbledore's voice was gentle and sad as he said this, and added, "Minerva will understand. What is important is that we save her. This may be our only opportunity."

Harry nodded. "I understand. I hope it doesn't come to that."

"As do I, Harry. As do I."


	15. Chapter 15 Preparation

Sorry for the long delay! Not much time to write over the Thanksgiving Holiday. Thank you so much for everyone reading and reviewing! Makes my heart happy. :)

Chapter 15, Preparation

He left her there lying on the dusty, patterned rug of the library floor. She lay in a state of half awareness, not really unconscious—but not quite cognizant of the conversations and activities going on around her. She felt outside of herself, vaguely feeling the ache of her body, the throbbing in her exhausted mind, the struggle of her one good lung to compensate for the loss of the other. It was all far away, detached from her being, sensory observed from a distance—from another state; murky and thick like the speaking voices she almost recognized. Her eyes fluttered open, but all she saw were shadows and shapes moving slowly about making her head swim and she closed them again. Somewhere in her state of ambiguous fog she was together enough to know not to call attention to herself, not to remind them of her seemingly forgotten presence.

He had not forgotten her, however. Lord Voldemort watched her from his seat in the great wing-backed chair at the fireside, where he stroked the dry, scaly skin of Naigini who was curled in his lap. No, he had not forgotten her. He had never forgotten. Not once in all of the years of their separation had he forgot to remember Minerva McGonagall and her disloyalty, her deserved punishment, and his revenge. He had plotted it, anticipated it with relish, and now that he had her, it was even sweeter than he had ever imagined possible. It was the proverbial two birds with one stone, hurting her, and through her the untouchable Albus Dumbledore.

She had lasted longer than he ever imagined. He knew of her strength—he had not forgotten that, either. It was only one of the characteristics that set her apart from all others he had known. He had meant it when he told her she was the best, just as he had meant that that very extraordinary quality made him entitled to her. Still, he had never had a prisoner survive this long. Certainly not with their minds intact. And her torture had been long and intense, carefully calculated and designed specifically for her. She was weakening, but slowly. She resisted him at every turn, but it was becoming harder for her and he knew it. That was part of the game, destroying her bit by bit until her physical body could no longer assist her mind and soul from keeping him out. That would end tonight, he mused. He had saved the best for last—the deal breaker, the clincher. The final strike that would crush her completely, and make her his. She would do it willingly—grudgingly, but willingly. That was the brilliance. She would choose her fate-choose him, and then _live_ with her choice for the rest of her life. That was torture, too, and all part of the game.

His lips curled into a smile as he pictured the image in his mind. The proud, beautiful Minerva McGonagall offering herself to him in front of his Death Eaters. "How the mighty fall," he whispered in parseltongue. Naigini raised her head a little, and then slithered off of his lap and onto the floor, closer to the warmth of the fire.

**********

Remus, Harry, Ron and Hermione sat in front of Dumbeldore's fire sipping on tea and hot chocolate. The Headmaster had stepped out to assist Severus with the final touches to adjust the polyjuice potion so that it would last a minimum of three hours before Harry or Remus would have to drink more. They couldn't risk transforming back into themselves too early, or their cause would be lost.

He had left them in his quarters, so that Remus' presence at Hogwarts would not raise any suspicion or unwanted questions as to why he was there. They had wandered from their discussion of how one might ought to behave at a Death Eater meeting to chatting about more pleasant things, such as Quidditch, family, and Holiday plans. They could not keep their minds off of the task at hand, however, and the conversation drifted inevitably back to the worry forefront in everyone's thoughts.

"It was very brave of you to do this, Harry." Lupin said quietly, taking a sip of brandy-laced cocoa. "And of you, Ron, to volunteer." Remus had enjoyed his year teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, and his three former students never failed to make him proud with their bravery and willingness to step up and do what was right.

Harry nodded, not feeling all that brave at the moment, but feeling that what must be done, must be done. "Thanks," he said quietly. "Brave of you, too."

"She would do the same for me," Remus said in reply. "She is only there now, after all, because of her love for her students." They sat silently together, absorbing this truth.

"Professor Lupin," Hermione began, addressing him as Professor a habit she had been unable to break, "why didn't Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall have any children?"

He smiled at her, a little sadly. "She and Dumbledore would tell you that they have had thousands of children, over the years. That would indeed include the three of you." His eyes twinkled a bit, as he knew that he himself was included among the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress's legions of offspring. Sobering, he looked at Hermione thoughtfully. "Do you remember Dumbledore speaking about Minerva being attacked by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? When she and Moody were called to the muggle home in London?" They nodded affirmatively and he continued. "Alastor told me that the curse Minerva was hit with was very old, very dark and ancient. It caused mass hemorrhaging in all of her major organs. He barely got her to St. Mungo's before she bled to death. As it was, she had to receive a great many transfusions muggle-style to replace what she had lost. It took weeks for them to cure her, as no one had seen that kind of magic used in over a century. Parts of her never fully recovered. She was left unable to have children."

"Oh how terrible!" Hermione exclaimed. "It is almost as if Voldemort killed any family she might have had!"

"Exactly the point, Hermione. He knew what he was doing. He had always been jealous of Dumbledore, and he wasn't going to allow her to bear his children, or anyone's for that matter." He took another sip of his drink. "Perhaps that is why she was so keen to teach, that was a way for she and Dumbledore to have a family of sorts. They have helped to raise a lot of children, and so really, the Dark Lord didn't win after all."

He paused a moment, looking at them. "That is what is important to remember. He doesn't win because we do not let him win. As long as there are those who go on, who live their lives fully and well, and choose to do what is right rather than live in fear, he doesn't win. As long as there is resistance, he can't win. Minerva helped to teach me that, both by her words and her example."

"You know, when we save her tonight—and we _will_ save her, I'd hate to be Dumbledore when she recovers enough to realize he is allowing one of her young Gryffindors to be in the mix of it. And at a Death Eater meeting no less!" He chuckled at this thought, lightening the mood. "Especially _you_, Harry."

Ron raised his eyebrows. "But we have to! Dumbledore said it's the only way, do you really think she'll be mad?" Ron looked affronted and a bit nervous, having been at the receiving end of the infamous McGonagall wrath before.

"She'll get over it. But she won't be pleased. She is very protective of her lion cubs and she'll have a thing or two to say about it, but then she will come around and see it is for the best." Lupin allowed himself a smile as he imagined the scene in his mind. Minerva torn between gratitude for being rescued and mortification that Albus allowed her underage students to be placed at risk, on her account. "You know," he added slowly, addressing Harry, "she didn't speak to Dumbledore for two weeks after he left you with the Dursleys. She wanted to adopt you, raise you at Hogwarts where she and Albus could look after you personally, see that you were cared for and protected."

Harry was shocked at this information. He had had no idea McGonagall was even there when he had been dropped on his aunt's doorstep on Privet Drive, and he certainly hadn't known she had wanted to adopt him. He tried not to think about how differently his life might have been had she won that particular argument. "Dumbledore explained that to me. He said I have to stay with a blood relative to maintain the blood wards. It protects me from Voldemort. Didn't Professor McGonagall know about that?"

"Of course she did. All of the Order members knew. She had done some first hand observation of your Aunt and Uncle's household, and she was none too happy about them being left to raise you. She was furious with him but came around with some time and thought. She knew it was for the best, but knowing what's best doesn't always make things easier." His smile returned. "After the death of your parents, Harry, and Sirius's subsequent conviction, I had no where to go. My own parents were afraid of me, frightened of their own son. My family had become the Potters, Sirius and Peter. Suddenly they were all gone. I stayed here with Dumbledore for a while. They were very good to me, gave me time and space, and a place to grieve."

Lupin's grey eyes were clouded with memories as he spoke. Again, Harry marveled at the private lives of his professors, all of the things he didn't know, and had never thought to ask. Growing up ostracized in the Dursley household had made him self reliant and isolated. Hogwarts had become the home and haven that he had hitherto lacked. He was very grateful for the atmosphere and provided and nurtured by the heads of the school he so dearly loved. He would do his part to set the world right again and restore the balance and order to Hogwarts. He just hoped he was up to task.

*****************

Down in the dungeons Albus Dumbledore added the last ingredients to the bubbling cauldron. If he and Severus had estimated correctly, Remus and Harry should have three hours from drinking the potion before it would wear off, dangerously exposing them to Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

They had worked mostly in silence, speaking to each other only when necessary concentrating on the task at hand. "I think it is finished, Headmaster." Severus spoke at last.

Dumbledore studied the color and density for a moment and then nodded his agreement. He could not afford for anything to go wrong tonight. One tiny slip up, and he would lose Minerva forever. He swallowed the hint of guilt rising up inside him for allowing Harry to participate in the mission. The boy had been through quite enough without him exposing him to further risk. He allowed himself the tiniest of sighs: he was growing so weary of constantly weighing and juggling the lives and safety of others. It was a constant, tiresome burden of war, and one that left no one unscathed if his decisions were wrong. He needed her back by his side. Her unwavering support and wisdom. Her loyalty and reassurance, the comfort of her body and warmth of her love.

Severus heard the almost imperceptible sigh, and cocked an eyebrow at the older wizard, "Headmaster?"

Dumbledore smiled at him grimly. "I am still trying to convince myself that I am right in involving Harry in all of this."

Snape said calmly, "He is willing, Headmaster. He volunteered, after all." He was carefully ladling the thick, simmering liquid into flasks.

"Yes. But he is underage. I am responsible for what happens to the lad. But," he said sighing again, "I see no alternative. Harry is the best choice to impersonate young Malfoy."

Snape merely nodded, continuing the slow pour from the copper ladle to the silver flask, not spilling a drop.

"Minerva would be in a state if she knew. You know how fierce she can be regarding the students. Harry in particular."

"Headmaster, we would have no Order of the Phoenix at all if you were to exclude Minerva's former students. The woman has taught all the wizards in Britain for forty years," he added dryly. Suddenly, his face took on an even more serious expression, his tone quietly earnest. "It may be quite a while before Minerva is up to being angry at anyone. If we don't retrieve her now, she won't last a fortnight."

Dumbledore closed his eyes tightly for a moment, pressing back the ever-present tears threatening to escape them. When he spoke, his voice was steady and controlled. "Don't fear about that, lad. We will get her back. Safe and sound."

Severus saw the light leave the blue eyes, being replaced by a dark determination. Anger and power and ability lit them now, and the eccentric old wizard before him disappeared, and in his place stood Albus Dumbledore. The most powerful wizard of the age, and the only one the Dark Lord ever feared. Severus stopped an involuntary shiver. He hoped the eyes of that Dumbledore never focused their wrath on him.

"Let us join the others, Severus. It is nearly time."


	16. Chapter 16 Departures

Chapter 16, Departures

Darkness was quickly making its descent over Hogwarts as the sun took its leave, ending another day. The great hall was bustling with excitement as the Halloween feast was going full swing. Dumbledore presided over the festivities as usual, only a little more subdued than in previous years, the seat to his right conspicuously vacant. Hagrid picked at his plate nervously, eyeing Snape across the long staff table, noting he wasn't eating either, but sat waiting placidly for the burning pain in his left arm that would call him to Voldemort and thus begin the mission.

Harry observed all of this from a distance, just outside the doors of the hall; he and Remus hidden beneath his invisibility cloak ready to rise and trail Draco Malfoy when he made his exit. He tried to remain as still as possible, as calm and serene as the man next to him, but his stomach was doing back flips inside him, and he kept wiping the moisture from his sweating palms on his jeans beneath the cloak. He couldn't see Ron and Hermione from this position, and he longed to be sitting safely among friends at the Gryffindor table, he wanted to look up at the staff table and see all of the customary faces smiling back at him, or glaring at him as Snape always did. That meant life was as it should be. But no matter how long he stared at the center of the table, Professor McGonagall never materialized, and Dumbledore's eyes never twinkled.

Remus nudged Harry, and he looked up to see Snape's sour, bored expression change slightly. For the most fleeting of moments pain flashed over his visage, and then was gone. An agonizing minute drug by, and the Potions Master stood quietly from the table, nodded slightly to Dumbledore and took his leave. Lupin's eyes met Harry's in a meaningful glance and he knew it would not be long before their query made his move as well.

****************

Minerva stirred slightly as she heard Tom's smooth voice calling her name. She didn't want to answer. She wasn't sure where she was, or what time she was in. She didn't want to open her eyes only to see the little girl's vacant stare, or Alastor lying lifeless in a field next to her. She didn't want Lucius to strike her again, or Albus to turn his back, rejecting her. But reluctant as she was to leave this blissful state of unawareness, she could not ignore the voice beckoning her forward, calling her back to reality, a reality he was constantly recreating.

As she could avoid consciousness no longer, she braced herself and opened her eyes. All she saw was the tall form of Tom Riddle towering over her, his face looming in the flickering shadows of firelight in the otherwise darkened room. As the pain of her body caught up with her mind, she felt ironically relieved that she wasn't in the middle of a mental exercise in torture. She could handle the physical abuse so much more readily than the nightmares he played over and over in her imagination. The tangible she could trust, her mind she could not.

"Minerva, my dear, we have somewhere we need to be," and with a fluid motion he had swept her off of the floor and into a standing position. She sucked in air sharply and staggered backward at the screaming protest of her ravaged body. He steadied her as the world momentarily went black. "I have a change of robes for you," he said as her vision swam and she fought back the nausea produced by her intense pain.

Wandlessly he caused her arms to raise above her shoulders, another cry escaping her lips. He enjoyed peeling the satin green dress from her body; taking skin with the fabric where it had dried to the wounds he had opened earlier that morning. He appraised her, circling her carefully, taking her in from all angles. She dropped her gaze as a deep flush colored her cheeks and neck. She began to shiver violently both from the cold accosting her naked skin and the shame she felt of having his eyes summing her up as if she were an object of which he was contemplating purchase.

"Lucius has done quite a job on you, hasn't he love?" He traced the visible markings on her otherwise alabaster skin.

"Don't call me that." She snapped with quiet forcefulness. But he noticed her eyes still did not meet his.

He smiled as he waved the wand. Sweet victory was about to be his. Her arms lowered and she was standing before him in soft white robes, with a scooped, peasant neckline, tied loosely with a crimson sash around her waist. She looked like an untouched virginal sacrifice were it not for all of the bruising and cuts covering every exposed section of flesh.

"Come, Minerva. We don't want to keep the others waiting." And, lifting her stiffly into his cold arms they apparated.

***********************

It hadn't taken long to follow Malfoy into the forbidden forest and down a path leading outside of the school grounds. Harry marveled at how quickly it had all happened. It seemed he had no more than blinked and Dumbledore was standing next to him, proffering vials of polyjuice potion. Rodolphus Lestrange and Draco Malfoy were lying unconscious and Remus was stripping them of their cloaks. He pulled a hair from each of them and they added it to their vials, the liquid inside turning deep hues of violet and bubbling up, almost spilling over the sides.

Harry looked expectantly at Lupin who nodded silently and they drank the potions down. Harry felt the tingling sensation as his skin began to bubble and stretch and he grew a couple of inches taller. He took off his glasses as his vision blurred, Malfoy's eyesight being un-needful of their corrective aid. He was startled to see Lestrange's tall menacing shape before him, where Remus's calm reassuring one had been moments before. He changed quickly into Malfoy's better fitting robes, pinning the Slytherin tie tack in place of his Gryffindor one. They were ready. Harry took some deep breaths trying to steady his pounding heart.

Dumbledore was speaking to them, and Harry forced himself to pay attention. "Once you are gone, I will gather the others and we will not be far behind you. Harry, it is imperative that you stay in character no matter what you see—no matter what happens. It is all right for you to be nervous, I think Draco would be, it is only natural. However, he would be anxious to prove himself and more than willing to do anything Voldemort asks of him. As soon as you see my Patronus appear you are to meet with Remus or the closest available Order member to apparate back to the Hogsmeade gait."

"Yes, Professor," Harry managed to choke out.

Suddenly, Dumbledore laid a hand on Harry's shoulder, and his other on Lupin's arm. Harry was surprised to find tears glistening in the old man's eyes. "I thank you both for this," he said quietly, "from the bottom of my heart. You are helping me to get my life back."

Harry was stunned by the emotion in his mentor's voice. But before he could respond, an old garden rake lying forgotten on the ground began to glow. The portkey. Harry watched as Dumbledore muttered the tracing charm over it, and then he and Remus grabbed hold of either end. Harry felt the familiar twitching and pulling behind his navel, and then he was spinning away, falling through the blackness.


	17. Chapter 17 Pledges

Chapter 17 Pledges

They landed in the middle of a dark glen, a bright half-moon making visible the shadows of a surrounding forest, thick and ominous. Tom deposited her on a stone dais, where she stood clutching her side and shivering. She shivered not only from the coldness of the air but also from the sea of hostile faces peering up at her out of the night. A mass of Death Eaters, shrouded in their black cloaks, skull masks gleaming in the moonlight were down on their knees, bowing, welcoming their master. Minerva fought the urge to be sick, the breeze prickling the goose bumps on her skin. Torches were lit around the perimeter of the crowd, grotesquely distorting the features of the masks, and more terrifyingly, the face of Lord Voldemort. Whether it was from the cold or the dire fear in her heart—the fog in her mind had lifted.

She was reminded of the first war she had fought in, half a century earlier when she was much younger, much more impressionable. She remembered looking on at gatherings eerily like this one, where the enemy assembled and ceremoniously fanned the fires of their hatred and evil agendas. This was the initiation ceremony, she realized. Halloween. Had it only been a week, only seven days since she had voluntarily joined this hellish world, to save her students from standing in this very same position? She drew herself up as straight as she could manage, biting back the pain. If this was to be her last stand, her last night on this earth, she would go with all the dignity she could muster.

She looked down the long, narrow platform she was standing on. There was a pillar at either end, one directly beside her, round and smooth, thick with only a few cracks of age in the stone. Tom was standing in the center, addressing the throng. On the other side of him there appeared to be a box or a crate; large and covered with a tarp. She wondered what was inside it. Returning her gaze to the sea of masks before her she tried to pick Severus from the crowd. She knew it was foolish, it was impossible to distinguish one cloaked skull-faced Death Eater from another, but it gave her the smallest measure of comfort to know there was a friend among them. Tom was still speaking when suddenly the crowd parted, an aisle forming in the center of the mob. A man was walking towards them to the rhythmic chanting of those surrounding him. She recognized him: Zeke Randall; Ravenclaw, class of 89. A flicker of recognition crossed his features, mingled with a twinge of horror at who she was, as well. Whatever surprise had been visible was quickly gone, though she noticed his eyes kept wandering to hers. The next pledge she did not recognize, he was announced as Richard Leblanc, but the third made her blood ice. Draco Malfoy. Her eyes stung and her knees shook, god, he was just a child. A _child_. Yes, he was Lucius's son; yes she had worried and even suspected that he was following his father's path. But—oh Merlin, he was still a child, still one of her students, still under her watch. _He was becoming a Death Eater under her watch!_ How could he know what he was entering into? How could he _really know?_ His eyes were wide and she could see the terror in them. Yet he walked with determination, resolved to carry out his pledge. She wept silently, for this student she had lost.

Harry swallowed, trying to breathe slowly, forcing his legs to propel him onward. He shouldn't be staring at her, but he couldn't help himself. This wraith like creature before him with her cheek black and blue, her eyes hollow and gaunt—how could this be Professor McGonagall? She was looking right through him, it seemed. Horror and sadness written on her face, disappointment boring into him like a hot poker through his heart. He barely stopped himself from yelling to reassure her, 'it isn't me, Professor! It's me Harry, but I'm here to save you, I'm not becoming a Death Eater! I swear!' And then he realized, she wasn't crying for him. The sorrow and disappointment wasn't for Harry, it was for Malfoy. She was shocked and hurt and bewildered by _Malfoy_—He wasn't Harry, to her he was Draco Malfoy. The tears streaming down her cheeks, the hurt in her eyes was for a Slytherin. Harry was astonished at this revelation. He had only felt contempt for any member of the rival house, and had naturally assumed that his own Head of Gryffindor would feel the same. But this wasn't the case. Had she really held any hope for Draco Malfoy? Apparently she had.

He had come unknowingly to a halt, standing in front of the center of the raised stone platform. He forced himself to look away from his Professor and to concentrate on the words of Voldemort. He was giving them their first task. The Imperios Curse.

"As you have no doubt taken notice," Voldemort was saying, "we have a very special guest here tonight. From Hogwarts itself, the revered Professor Minerva McGonagall," he made a sweeping gesture in her direction, sneering at her as the crowd before him cheered. "She will be participating in our gathering later this evening; we don't want her used up too early. So for our first trial, our pledges will be casting the Imperios Curse upon three of you." The crowd fell silent. "No volunteers? Very well. Randall—you will cast your curse upon Carrow; Leblanc upon Rookwood; and Malfoy—upon your father. It is important that you prove your loyalties."

The three men emerged from the crowd, removing their masks and nodding deferentially to the three young men lined up before them. Harry swallowed hard, remembering the words of the man who was supposed to have been Alastor Moody in his fourth year regarding the unforgivable curses, "_the use of any one of them will earn you a one way ticket to Azkaban." _He drew his wand, commanding, "Imperio!"

There was no more than the slightest alteration in the demeanor of the three cursed men. Harry waited for further instruction but none came. Amycus Carrow started turning somersaults on the ground before them, Rookwood was standing on his head, his hands strangely clasped around his throat, his face turning purple from the rush of blood and lack of oxygen. Lucius Malfoy merely stood before him, a slack-jawed smile on his face. Panic was setting in as Harry tried desperately to think of something to command Lucius Malfoy to do. "_Sing, Potter_! _Make him sing_!" the voice of Severus Snape resounded urgently in Harry's mind. "_And for Merlin's sake, put up your bloody occlumency shields!" _Harry pointed his wand, and Lucius Malfoy's blank face took on an angelic glow. His mouth opened and he began to sing, the only song Harry could think of, the Hogwarts School song, only sung once in his memory, at the end of the start of term feast his first year at Hogwarts.

"_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy warty Hogwarts_

_Teach us something, Please_

_Whether we be old and bald_

_Or young with scabby knees—"_

This caused Voldemort to roar with laughter, the multitude joining him in his mirth, as Lucius continued to spout:

_"—Bring back what we've forgot_

_Just do your best, we'll do the rest_

_And learn until our brains all rot—"_

"Well done, Draco! Fifty points to Slytherin!" The Dark Lord announced above him, causing even greater laughter and some cheering from the crowd. Harry felt himself relax a bit, and gave what he hoped was Draco's customary smug smirk of a smile. He was sure it came out more as a grimace.

"That will be enough!" Voldemort said, and the laughter abruptly died away.

The three pledges muttered the counter curse and their subjects fell still and silent, their vacant expressions returning to normal, eyes suspicious but un-remembering.

The mood darkened considerably as Voldemort's voice commanded their attention once again. "We move on to the second part of the induction." He snapped his long, skeletal fingers and Wormtail scurried over to the crate at the other end of the dais. "We have arrived at my personal favorite in tonight's repertoire, the application of the Cruciatus Curse."

Harry forced himself to stand stock still, repressing the shudders of dread and fear threatening to overtake him.

"Our good Professor," his hand swept gracefully in Minerva's direction, "has broken the known record for surviving the Cruciatus Curse. Having been hit twenty-one times in almost complete secession, she doesn't pose much challenge. I have decided to make things more interesting for her. Wormtail, if you please."

Pettigrew bowed slightly in acquiescence, and swept the tarp off with a flourish. It was not a crate as it had first appeared but a square, iron-barred cage. A faint whimpering sound was emanating from inside. Wormtail rapped the side with his wand and the top and sides of the cage disappeared. The Death Eaters around and behind Harry fell silent; the only sounds were a gasp of horror from Professor McGonagall—and the hiccupping, wailing cries of a small child.

The little boy was young, no more than three or four years old—his round face blotchy and red from his tears. He was dressed in an orange pumpkin costume, a smiling jack o' lantern's face painted on the puffy fabric, a green felt hat with a stem topped his head, a string securing it; tied beneath his chin. His knee high orange and green striped socks were sliding down his little legs, his knees red and scraped from a fall.

Voldemort addressed Minerva now, his voice quiet, only just audible to Harry standing a few feet away. "I have brought you a surprise, love. I acquired him personally for you, in a village in Hampshire. He was going door to door, practicing that quaint little ritual muggles do—I believe it is called 'trick-or-treat'."

She stared at him, horrified and disbelieving. "Tom, you didn't—his family—he's just an infant—" her voice was quavering, coming out in a whisper.

"Alas, I didn't take the time to harm his idiot of a mother. I was in a rush to grab him and get back to you; to get everything in order for tonight." His voice was dripping with a mocked sweet sincerity.

Her heart wrenched inside her as she took in the trembling child's terror stricken face; a floppy sleeve wiping at his running nose. His little eyes gazed at her, bewildered, as if his young mind understood hers was the only friendly soul in the crowd. She could feel the hysteria rising within her. "Tom they can't. He won't survive; he's too young—too small…"

"Minerva, his fate is in your hands. As I have said, I brought him to make things more interesting for you." He turned to face his Death Eaters again, his voice rising for all to hear. "Professor McGonagall managed to remain silent under two prolonged applications of the Cruciatus Curse, a worthy achievement to be sure. But perhaps she could do better with proper incentive." His red eyes glowed in cruel anticipation. "It is very simple, Minerva. If you can receive all three hits of the Cruciatus without making a sound, then there will be no need to use it upon the child."

A murmur rippled through the crowd, as bets were exchanged as to whether or not she could do it. Riddle's mouth twisted into a smile, as he knew her mind was weighing those same thoughts.

Of course she couldn't. She had barely stayed silent those first two attacks. And she was stronger then, five nights ago. She hadn't yet lost a lung, her ribs were intact, and her back hadn't been splayed open. She hadn't been beaten and raped repeatedly; her mind hadn't been manipulated and tortured to the very edges of her sanity. She knew she couldn't and so did he.

That was the point, she realized. Another tactic in his wretched, sadistic game. She felt the irony of it all, as he undoubtedly meant her to. She had given herself up, traded herself to save three children, but it didn't matter. He had simply found another to take their place. She was weak, and now she was the only thing standing between this helpless child and torture. She stared down the length of the platform and into his frightened eyes.

The first curse caught her unprepared. Leblanc had pointed his wand and cried "Crucio!" before she'd cleared her thoughts, before she could brace herself. She was thrown violently onto her back; her head smacking into the pillar, her body bucking and contorting in agony. She was filled with white, hot pain flashing in her vision as her nerves caught fire and her muscles seized. Minerva forced the image of the terror filled brown eyes to remain in the forefront of her thoughts amidst the pain. She could not cry out and allow them to hurt this child.

The crowd was roaring with excitement when her body stilled, the curse wearing off. No sound had escaped her lips, and they were calling for more. She was given no pause; seconds after her limbs had ceased twitching Voldemort raised his hand, and Zeke Randall cursed her again. Severus had moved discreetly through the restless press of bodies until he had arrived unnoticed a few feet behind Harry. He found himself unconsciously gripping tightly to the wand at his side, his hand aching with the pressure of holding back, of not striking them all down. Minerva couldn't take much more of this, Severus knew. Her body was jerking and flailing like a puppet on a string, but she remained eerily quiet, no screams—no sobs of anguish. She was holding out for the boy, but Severus knew the Dark Lord would kill him anyway. _Where the bloody hell was Dumbledore?_ Potter was next to cast the spell, and as much as he disliked the pompous little wretch he had hoped he would be spared the stain on one's soul that performing an Unforgivable Curse left.

Harry watched intently as mercifully the spell waned, and she was motionless once again. His stomach was churning the knots inside him and his chest felt heavy and tight. As he raised his wand in answer to Voldemort's command, the throng behind him fell silent. They were all waiting to see if she were up to the challenge. Harry tried to recall Dumbledore's words, he tried to keep in mind that this wicked act was necessary in order to execute the mission, to get Professor McGonagall back safely. That she would understand. Once again Snape's voice spoke urgently in his mind, "_Do it Potter_!" Harry heard his voice cry out, "Crucio!" his hesitation over.

It seemed no one breathed in the years that seem to pass slowly by in the few moments that her body twisted and flailed, thrashing brutally against the hard stone. And to Harry's complete awe, she was completely silent. He furiously blinked back tears as a mixture of guilt, sadness, and defeat washed over him. This time when the spasms stopped, he found himself craning his neck, unsure whether she was still breathing. Oh god, what if he had killed her? A ripple of voices was undulating through the crowd, all trying to determine the same thing.

Voldemort was standing over her, an odd, disturbing smile on his face. She lay staring up at him, searching for her breath, swallowing down the blood and stifling an urge to gag at its rusty taste. She had bitten down hard on her tongue and the inside of her jaw, clamping her mouth tightly shut. "Sit up, Minerva." He commanded her.

"I can't," she managed to gasp.

The smile widened. "But you must, love. I want you to be able to see young Malfoy when he kills the muggle-boy."

"No!" she was furtively trying to pull herself together. "No—Tom you said if I…" her voice trailed off for a moment as a coughing fit overtook her, her chest was burning and it felt as if a thousand knives were stabbing through her. When she pulled her hand from her mouth there were spots of bright red dotting her palm. "You said if I could take the curses…if I didn't scream….you wouldn't—I didn't scream…" Her words were coming out in a tumble between her gasps for air.

"No, love. I said there would be no need to use the Cruciatus on the boy. I said nothing about Avada Kedavra."

"Let him curse me," she whispered, a plea in her voice. "Please, Tom. Please don't kill that child…"

"Minerva, we have discussed this. There is only one way to end our game. And your death is not it." He regarded her coldly. "Someday I will stamp out your ridiculous love of muggles. Now sit up, or I shall curse you again." He turned from her, striding toward the dais' center once more. "We have one final event. But as the killing curse can only be performed once per victim, we have a shortage of subjects. I have decided that being the youngest of our new members that Draco Malfoy should be the one to cast the last Unforgivable."

Harry felt panic overtake him. He could not perform the killing curse. No matter what. Not on this little boy. He tried to think of a way to stall for time.

"Surely you know the spell?" Voldemort was asking, his voice sounding nonchalant and bored, but Harry sensed a hint of impatience behind it.

"Of course I do, it's just I…" Harry stammered, searching for words.

"_**Then cast it**_!" Voldemort hissed.

"I—"

"No!"

All heads turned to stare at the woman on the platform. Minerva had managed to roll herself onto her left side, and was raised up slightly, propped on an elbow. "No! No, it's over. Tom please, it's over. You win." Her shoulders were shaking from the effort to call out, but her gaze met him unfaltering. "Please, just let the boy go back to his family….alive…" she added, her voice growing fainter.

He was inside her mind in an instant, she could feel his satisfaction, the pleasure and pride of victory. "_You remember the terms of surrender, don't you, Minerva? You must pledge yourself to me. I am waiting."_

She choked down her revulsion and whatever shred of pride she had left. He had her anyway, she told herself, and she couldn't let him use Draco to kill this little boy. She couldn't let him use a child to kill another child. Slowly she began to crawl towards him, dragging herself forward, inching her way as the misery of her body took second place to the agony of her heart.

Harry stood frozen to the spot, watching the scene before him play out in disbelief. This couldn't be happening. He wanted to turn away, the witness of her humiliation too much to bear. But he couldn't force his eyes away, and so he just stood rooted, eyes glued to the surreal horror unfolding before him.

She collapsed momentarily upon reaching him, panting for breath. Then summoning all of her strength she pulled herself up to a kneeling position and reached for his hand. She could hear the shocked exclamations from the onlookers who were watching riveted, but she forced them from her focus. Taking his hand in hers, she bowed her head. "Lord Voldemort." Her voice came out calm and steady, but it was ensconced in sorrow, and she swore she could hear the sounds of her heart breaking within her. Pulling against his weight she shakily rose to a standing position, and ignoring the startled gasps she pulled his face down to hers and kissed him. The effort was too much, and she could feel the sounds and faces growing ever more distant as her mind and body gave in to the pain and exhaustion. And just before the world grew black and silent—her heart caught. There was a voice thundering over the tumult of the crowd.

"**RIDDLE**!" A voice boomed strong and loud, laced with deadly resolve. "**MOVE AWAY FROM MY WIFE**!"


	18. Chapter 18 Rescue

Chapter 18

Time was frozen, it seemed to Harry. The first moments stretched for an eternity as everyone spun on their heels to see Albus Dumbledore looming larger than life; standing wand raised and ready for combat in the midst of the sea of black cloaks and masks. Voldemort looked up from Professor McGonagall's kiss, shock momentarily covering his inhuman face. Startled at his adversary's sudden and unexpected arrival he let go of the woman in his arms, and Harry watched her crumple to the stone floor above him. Voldemort drew his wand, and the stillness of time was over. Now, everything began to happen at once, reality becoming a blur of activity and madness. Shimmers of light were rippling all around him, and Harry saw the members of the Order of the Phoenix taking position throughout and around the mass of Death Eaters. Harry could feel the tension of magic in the air, the ground trembling beneath him slightly with the pulse of Dumbledore's anger. Adrenaline began to pump through his body as he readied himself by raising his own wand, swallowing his nerves as he stood poised on the brink of battle.

"It is good of you to join us, old man." Voldemort took a step forward, with a nod behind him to Minerva's body, lying motionless in a heap, her eyes half closed in her faint. "As you can see, tonight's entertainment has been a bit much for her. It is too bad really, that she won't be awake to witness my making her a widow." And a flash of light flew from his wand, a snake shaped tongue of fire hurtling toward Albus.

Harry blinked at the bright shape and in that second, Dumbledore was gone, the fiery serpent colliding with the earth leaving scorched sulphuric-smelling ash in its wake. A flash of purple caught his eyes and Dumbledore was behind the dais, sending a small funnel cloud of wind and dust straight towards the center, causing the Dark Lord to back away, and himself to disapparate and reappear. It came to him suddenly that he was just standing there, unmoving, while curses were being flung at abandon, duels taking place all around him. His brain and body snapped into action, and he joined in, adding stunning spells and shields to the duels in progress, afraid to use more serious spells as he didn't want to risk hitting Snape or Lupin who were still in disguise beneath the masks. He was making his way to Bill Weasley, who was dueling three Death Eaters close to the line of trees, left of the stone table. Bill was in charge of getting Harry back to the safe point in Hogsmeade, and Harry joined him just in time, casting a 'petrificus totalus' and leveling two of the Death Eaters as they were casting Avada Kedavra at Bill, and causing them to miss.

Minerva came to soon after Tom had dropped her on the cold floor. She could hear the melee of the battle around her, curses and counter curses being shouted, the ripple and crackle of spells hitting shields, cries of pain when they made contact with their objects. Albus was here. He was here to save her. She seemed to be forgotten for the moment, and she forced her head to raise enough to look for the little muggle child. He sat several feet from her, next to the other pillar, his little eyes wide with terror and quiet tears streaming down his face. They had momentarily forgotten him, as well. A killing curse flew dangerously over his head but still he didn't move. She had to get to him, before he was accidentally hit, or worse; they remembered he was there.

She began to crawl towards him slowly, head down, body low to the ground, as discreetly as possible. She couldn't risk drawing attention to herself now, from either side. She knew they wouldn't kill her, under Tom's orders, but they could do other things: worse things. And the child meant nothing to them, they would only be too happy to end his little life, worthless in their eyes. She was moving agonizingly slowly, fighting her limbs to move properly, and as she got closer she began to call out in a low voice, "It's all right, love. Come to me, I won't hurt you." He gaped at her, sucking on his trembling lower lip, paralyzed into place by his fear. "There, there, love, it's all right. Come now, come to me, I will keep you safe." She was only a few feet from him now, just a little further, she reasoned to her protesting muscles. The little boy began to crawl towards her, looking at her expectantly, until he reached the safety of her arms. She pulled him closely to her chest, enveloping him tightly in her embrace, whispering for him to be still, and keep silent.

"Wait! Look there!" She heard an angry shout from the madness below her. "She's got the muggle!" She saw the spell flying towards them, and without hesitation rolled backwards and off of the dais—the child in her arms, into the quiet dark, out of sight of the crowd. The fall of several feet knocked the wind out of her, but still she clung tightly to the trembling little body. She heard rather than felt the crack in her bones, as the adrenaline and fear surged through her, dulling certain senses; heightening others. She drew the child as close to her as possible, curling tightly around him, pressing him between her body and the wall of stone.

On the other side of the dais, under the half-moon and light of torches, the battle raged. Fred and George dueled as a team, and Severus grudgingly admitted to himself that they were quite good, he himself barely deflecting the spells they had cast at him. He noticed that Harry had made it to Bill's side, and they were dueling the unmasked Lucius, two others lying on the ground before them. Nymphadora Tonks and Alastor Moody were standing back to back, encircled, trying to fend off several wands at once. Snape fired a few blasts from his own wand, into the circle dispersing it, and blended in with the other cloaked figures before anyone could notice he was aiming at the wrong side.

Dumbledore and the Dark Lord were continuously vanishing and reappearing at random points throughout the glen, lightening flashing and thundering from their wands as they fought an intense, private battle of wits and wills, the magic from their wands clashing against the other's like a contest of Titans, their mighty efforts causing the ground to quake and the air to haze and sizzle with magic.

Alastor and Tonks stood together, blasting opponents from their path. Alastor could see Minerva laying behind the stone structure with his magic eye, and the two were trying to make their way to her, without bringing notice to her whereabouts. Moody gave a nod of thanks to Severus, as he took out several Death Eaters at once whilst he and Tonks were surrounded. He could see through the masks, and was keeping a close eye on the locations of both Snape and Lupin, managing to cast a couple of shield charms, protecting them from the unsuspecting Weasley twins, and Bill and Harry as well. The Order were holding their own—but they were greatly out numbered, and it was a battle they couldn't win. The sooner they got to Minerva, the sooner they could all get to safety.

Albus Dumbledore's eyes flashed in quiet rage. Gone was the customary twinkle, his face was hardened, concentrated on defeat of the evil man before him. His anger sharpened his mind, honing his skill instead of dulling it and he instinctively blocked a wave of acid moving towards him in a wall, diffusing it with a wandless wave of the hand and sending his own counter-curse in the opposite direction. He was unaware of the light emanating from his person, casting an eerie glow around him as he advanced steadily toward Tom Riddle, reflexively fielding every curse thrown at him; a powerful, terrifying force.

"You know, old man, that your lovely wife has been enjoying quite a lively time with us. In fact, she may not wish to return to you at all. I have explained to her, that now that she has been tainted like a common whore, she will no longer be pleasing to you." He bantered casually, his wand unleashing a comet of blue magic.

Dumbledore raised his hand, his palm flat against the night air, and the blue bolt slammed into an invisible wall, breaking off and shooting haphazardly in all directions. "My wife is not a play-thing, Riddle. She is untaintable by your kind. Her soul is impenetrable, and her body will heal. I cannot say the same for yours." His wand waved slightly, and an avalanche of sharp, glassy ice rained down above Riddle.

"You're a fool, Albus Dumbledore. I have broken her; she will never heal. After I have killed you, she will be wholly mine. I daresay she will become a recipient of the Dark Mark, as well, though I will not place it on her forearm." He paused, and a smoky, orange flame seeped from the tip of his wand, rising to form a giant dragon, fire spewing from its mouth as it flew through the air. "I think I shall burn it into her chest, right over her heart."

A blue dragon emerged in answer from Albus's wand, rising into the air and swallowing the orange one whole, head first, spitting out its own trail of flame before evaporating. "You will do no such thing," Dumbledore answered him calmly.

He dug further, trying to wound him. "Have you tasted her blood? It is very arousing. I have Lucius to thank for that tidbit of information. I think I shall have to make her bleed every time from now on, I found it so—"

A blast of Red, molten gravels hurtled through the air at him, taking him by surprise, he only just shielded himself from them, as he heard Dumbledore say in a steady, ire-laced voice, "My wife is a lady. You will refrain from speaking about her in such a way." The ground under Riddle's body began to crack and separate, and he rose into the air in a dark cloud. He raised his wand, sending shots of light into dark sky, but none hit the mass gliding through the night.

When Moody reached Minerva she was huddled on the ground, the little muggle child snuggled into her, the only part of him visible was the little green stem of felt on his hat. He laid a hand on her shoulder and she shrank from his touch, lurching away from him—her hand protectively covering the child's face. "Alastor?" She questioned, her voice shaking, green eyes looking at him as if her were an apparition she could see through.

"Aye, lass, it's me," he said gently. "We're here to take you home, Minerva." He motioned for Tonks, who knelt down before her, soothingly stroking the little boy's hair under his costume.

"Hello, Professor," Tonks said softly, "and hello you," she said addressing the child in her arms. He turned his face, burying it deeply into Minerva's bosom.

"Minerva, give the boy to Nymphadora. She will see him back to Hogsmeade, and then St. Mungo's." Minerva stared at him blankly, her eyes still seeming to look through him. "Minerva," Alastor gripped her shoulders, looking into her eyes. He was speaking slowly and patiently, making sure she understood. "It's all right, love. Give the boy to Tonks, we have to get you both out of here."

His words began to filter through the walls in her mind, and she was able to process what he was saying. She nodded, but as she pushed his little body towards Tonks waiting arms, the child wrapped his arms more tightly around her, clinging to her neck, shaking with fright. "No love, go to the nice lady, she won't hurt you," she murmured into his ear, her voice gentle. Painstakingly, she pried his tiny hands from her and Tonks picked him up, gathering him into her arms. Alastor moved to do the same for Minerva, but she began to cough violently, her chest wracked with spasms, and he saw the red stains of blood on her lips. He glanced at Tonks who shot him a knowing look wrought with concern.

"We have to get her back now." As he lifted her up, cradling her against his chest she moaned, and he noticed for the first time that her leg was turned at an odd angle. He looked into her eyes, growing dark and glassy. "Hold on, lass." He whispered to her urgently. "Just hold on."

Balancing her momentarily between him and the wall of the platform he raised his wand, shooting his Patronus in the air, and shouting, "I have her, Albus!"

Dumbledore saw the silvery orb rise into the air, and so did Riddle. Taking advantage of this momentary distraction, Albus shot his own Patronus in the air, a Phoenix rising up large and luminous, sweeping down over the dueling crowd below, crying out his message, "Return!" Sending another blast at Tom Riddle, he disappeared, but he was not gone. He had one more order of business to take care of.

At the sight of the Silver Phoenix, Bill grabbed Harry's forearm and they apparated. Figures were disappearing all around, and Severus breathed a sigh of relief as he watched them go. He came up behind Lucius, his pale hair gleaming in the moonlight, and called his name. As the spell flew from his wand he saw Dumbledore appear at his right, a blast of light streaming before him, and Lucius Malfoy flew backwards, his landing concealed by the dark shadows of the trees. He then turned toward him, his apology shining in his blue eyes as he cast one last spell, and Severus felt himself falling to the ground, as Dumbledore disappeared in a shimmer of light before the night closed around him.

*******************************************

Waves of relief washed over Molly Weasley when the first faint 'pops' of apparition sounded, the atmosphere minutely disrupted and her oldest son Bill stood before her, supporting Harry as he stumbled a bit upon the impact of their landing. "Bill—thank God!" she exclaimed nervously, rushing to their side, "Harry dear, are you all right?" She took his other arm and helped him to stand properly.

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley, thanks," Harry said, "I just haven't gotten used to apparating yet, is all." He was nearly thrown to the ground again when Hermione threw her arms around his neck, tackling him.

"Oh, Harry! We were so worried!" exclaimed Hermione. Ron stood behind her, clapping Harry on the back.

"Good to have you back, mate," He greeted him.

"Where are the others, Bill? Did they get Minerva?" Molly asked her son, her voice anxious. Before her question could be answered, figures began to materialize around them as the other Order members appeared one by one. Fred and George, Remus, then Tonks and Moody, their human burdens clasped tightly in their arms.

"Hagrid!" Moody bellowed as the others rushed towards them. "Where is Hagrid?"

"I'm right here!" Hagrid called out to him as he and Kingsley Shacklebolt emerged from cover, Fleur having already rushed into Bill's arms.

"Oh Merlin, Alastor, what have they done to her?" Molly was asking, her voice hushed and wrought with disbelief. "And the boy, where did he come from?"

"The boy was taken from a muggle village," he answered quickly, cutting off any more questions. There was no time. He turned to Hagrid. "Hagrid, I need you to take Minerva for me, and get her back to the castle. Madame Pomfrey is waiting, she has a bed already set up in the hospital wing."

Hagrid gently took the woman from Moody's arms, a tear rolling down his cheek and getting lost in his tangled beard. "Poor Perfessor McGonagall," he said sadly, gazing down on her unconscious body, limp and frail in his giant hands. "Where's Perfessor Dumbledore? Why ain't he back?" Hagrid asked him, concerned.

"Dumbledore should be right behind us, he had some matters to take care of, personally. The rest of you get back to Hogwarts, you need to get inside the safety of the gate in case we are followed. Kingsley and I will stand guard here and wait for Dumbledore."

"There will be no need to wait for me, Alastor." They turned to see Dumbledore striding towards them, his wand still in hand, but his arm was hanging loosely at his side, and was not raised. "He is correct, we need to get within the gate as soon as possible. I do not believe we have been followed as of yet, but we should not risk remaining here in the open any longer." He was walking forward, and they began following him, falling into line in pairs of twos, wands at ready. Hagrid was directly behind him; Minerva bundled securely in his great coat, Remus beside him, having taken the little muggle boy from Tonks, the child was now resting quietly against his shoulder.

Albus avoided looking at her, forcing himself to remain vigilant against attack, knowing that the sight of her battered and broken, clinging to her life by a thread would cause him to break down, and that was a luxury he could ill afford. Their trek to the gait was unopposed, and they went through in silence, to the waiting thestral drawn carriages. They divided up into three coaches: Dumbledore, Hagrid, and Minerva the only occupants of the first. He needed that time with her, to look at her and hear her breathing, to believe that she was indeed safe.

The carriage ride was unbearably slow, and his heart seemed to pause with every bump and jolt of the uneven ride that caused her to groan in her sleep, her pale, bruised face contorting momentarily in discomfort. He had debated the wisdom of using Fawkes to transport her quickly, but had decided the risk was too great—her side-a-long apparition with Moody already quite taxing, taking a heavy toll on her rapidly waning strength. He held her hand gently in both of his, not daring speak a word. Hagrid seemed caught in this strange web of silence as well, his eyes looking down at her closed lids, keeping his giant's body as still as possible as if his very breathing might disturb her or cause her pain.

As the carriage moved from the cover of the forest a beam of moon light shone through the window, illuminating her face. The discoloration of the bruising was made harsher in contrast with the marble whiteness of the untouched other side, black hair falling away making her look both like an angel and a wretch who had crawled out of hell. His hand moved involuntarily to touch her face, stopping just before his fingers could caress the awful purple mark that stretched ominously across her cheek bone. He did not draw the hand away, however, and it hovered over her, so close but to Albus still so far away. He couldn't touch her. Watching her lying so still before him he felt she might be made of glass, the crystal so delicate that the slightest pressure would cause it to crack and shatter.

Hagrid watched him, sitting in silence, his eyes somehow tear free and clear. He felt uncomfortable, as if he were witnessing something he shouldn't, a scene more intimate than even the stolen kiss or fleeting touches he had at times been privy to over the years. He wanted to turn his face away or exit the slowly moving coach and allow his Headmaster his privacy, but Minerva was still cradled across his lap, her head propped in the crook of his arm. There was no way he could move without disturbing her. But though he were merely inches away, Dumbledore seemed wholly unaware of his presence so intently was he staring at Minerva, watching the rise and fall of her chest, her breath labored and ragged.

A sudden jolt jerked him forward a bit, and his hand finally made gentle contact with the side of her face. Once his skin finally did make contact with hers he found that whereas before he couldn't bring himself to touch her, now he couldn't pull away. He left his palm resting lightly against her cheek, his thumb running lightly over the fading edges of the bruises Lucius Malfoy had left on her, marring her beautiful face. Her eyes did not open, but her lips twitched ever so slightly in recognition of his touch. "Albus," she said so softly he nearly didn't hear her speak.

"I'm here, Min." he whispered. "I'm right here."

This time, Hagrid let his tears fall, thankful for the cover of darkness and shadow that hid them.


	19. Chapter 19 Vigil

Chapter 19 Vigil

When the carriage stopped before the castle entrance, Albus stepped down onto the solid ground before the steps, and gathered Minerva gently into his arms. He would be the one to carry her to Poppy, to carry her up the steps and into the warmth and safety of home.

As the others began to descend from their coaches, Albus noticed that Harry and Remus had both begun to transform back into themselves. Harry's scar had reappeared and unruly black tufts were sticking out among Draco's smooth, blonde hair. "Harry, I assume you have your father's cloak on hand? I need for both you and Remus to use it to make your way to the Hospital wing. It wouldn't do for you to be seen as you are at the moment. It is my hope that we can make it to Madame Pomfrey without meeting anyone, but we can not take any chances."

"Professor Dumbledore, I could go ahead of you and clear the way," said Hermione, pulling out her prefect badge and pinning it to her outer robe.

"That would be excellent, Miss Granger, thank you. If you would care to go on ahead, I need to get Professor McGonagall to Madame Pomfrey immediately." Hermione ran up the stairs and through the doors. "Hagrid," Dumbledore called over his shoulder, "if you would take the boy from Remus so that he and Harry can disappear under the invisibility cloak."

"Yes sir, Perfessor Dumbledore!" Hagrid called after him, and took the sleeping child from Lupin's arms. Harry tossed the cloak over them and they vanished, filing after Dumbledore with the others.

Whether from luck or the lateness of the hour, they met no students en route to the hospital wing. The castle ghosts were there to meet them, however, all expressing both their gladness at having the Deputy Headmistress return, and alarm at her condition. Even Peeves stopped his caterwauling upon seeing the Headmaster turning the corner, the sight of the still, pale woman in his arms shocking him into silence.

Minerva made no movement, no sound other than an occasional groan of pain. Albus gripped her more tightly to him, hoping that his warmth might spread to her and cease her shivering. He could not bear to look down at her battered face, and forced himself to stare straight ahead, all his concentration centered on keeping her body steady in his arms and moving as swiftly and sure-footedly as possible.

Poppy was waiting for them as promised. She directed Albus to move Minerva to the bed closest to her office door, and for Hagrid to lay the muggle boy directly across the way. She looked at the child with momentary confusion, but there was no time for questions regarding how he came to be there. Right now, she was in healer-mode, and her friend's ghostly pallor and sharp, shallow breathing had to be addressed straight away. "If you all would please go and make yourselves comfortable in my office while I examine Professor McGonagall, we need to give her some privacy." She already had the curtain in hand to draw behind them as they retreated; all save Albus.

"Albus, I really think you should leave while I examine her. From the looks of her it is going to be hard to take in," she said gently, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

He shook his head. "No, Poppy, I need to see this. I am her husband, and I need to see her—what they've done to her. It is better for me to see it now, and get my anger out of the way before she wakes. It may be sometime before Minerva feels ready to discuss her captivity with me, and I need her to know that I have seen and understand, that my rejection isn't something she need fear."

"Very well." Poppy looked at the man before her, and nodded, taking her wand and vanishing Minerva's clothing. Bracing himself for what he might see, both he and Poppy let out a startled gasp at what they actually saw, and Albus pressed his eyes tightly shut for a moment before reopening them.

Confronted with his wife's skeletal frame, a large reddish black contusion stretching across her ribcage on the right side, the remnants of rough fingerprints marring her upper arms, neck, and breasts, Albus fought the urge to be sick with rage. Ugly, yellow wounds were weeping with infection from bites on her upper thighs and abdomen.

Poppy whispered a faint, "Wingardium Leviosa" and her body began to levitate from off of the bed, and Poppy turned her over with a flip of the wrist. At the sight of her back a torrent of angry curses flew from Albus's mouth, and she barely suppressed her own cry of outrage. Angry red welts glared up at them, garishly crisscrossing her back, and extending from above her shoulder blades down to her tailbone. The scarring was puffy and discolored; and it was obvious the wounds had been reopened and scabbed over several times. "Oh, Merlin, Albus." Tears were falling freely down her face as she gaped at her oldest friend, and she lowered her wand hand, returning Minerva gently to the surface of the soft mattress.

Albus Dumbledore shook with his anger and sorrow as he stared at the raw, physical evidence of his wife's torture. The site of her ravaged back and caved in ribcage made him repent only cursing Lucius Malfoy with the most painful hex he could think of. Now he wished he had killed the bastard instead. This is what Severus had seen, this is what he hadn't wanted to tell him, but had because he had known he must. But for all his warning, for all that he _knew_ was happening, for all that he had imagined, he had still found himself unprepared.

Poppy continued her exam in silence, drawing her wand slowly over Minerva's body, probing for the internal damage not readily visible to the eye. She was still weeping quietly, unable to maintain her professional detachment when faced with such deliberate, brutal injuries. She was used to healing the accidents and maladies of children; school children who fell off brooms in Quidditch practice, minor jinxes, the flu and common cold. Though competently trained in all aspects of medicine, she was not accustomed to treating wounds and injuries of this magnitude, intentionally inflicted and drawn out to cause the maximum amount of suffering and pain.

When she finished her assessment she covered Minerva with a soft blanket, and composing herself as best she could, turned to face Albus Dumbledore. "Albus, she needs to be moved to St. Mungo's. Immediately." She watched his face, trying to gauge his reaction, debating on whether to offer him something for the shock, something to comfort his nerves and broken heart.

He looked at Minerva for a long moment before turning his gaze to Poppy's. "No," he said slowly. "No, Poppy, I am afraid we can't move her. She must stay here at Hogwarts."

"But Albus—I can't properly treat her here, she is too badly hurt—"

Dumbledore shook his head, his blue eyes full of sadness and determination. "We can't move her to St. Mungo's, Poppy," he said firmly, but his voice was kind. "I can't protect her there. And Voldemort will expect her to be sent for treatment, he'll be waiting. I can only keep her safely out of reach here, where the wards are fully under my command, she must remain at Hogwarts."

"All right, Albus. I shall do my best. But you must understand, she is gravely ill. To start, she has four shattered ribs and a punctured and collapsed lung. Pneumonia has set in her good lung. She is bleeding internally from several injuries; her kidneys, liver and spleen have been bruised. Her left leg is broken in two places. Her back is severely infected, the wounds are deep and they have been reopened and enlarged—intentionally—more than once. She has a high fever, she is greatly malnourished, and her entire nervous system has been severely damaged by numerous applications of the Cruciatus Curse. It appears her memory has been tampered with as well, and we will only begin to know the various psychological repercussions of her torture when she wakes up and begins to talk." She kept her eyes locked on his face, but he was staring into Minerva's silent face, his blue eyes clouded with unshed tears.

Several long moments of silence stretched between them before he spoke. "Is that all? I mean, is that everything?"

"Yes. At least, those are our most pressing concerns, and believe you me, they are plenty."

Albus nodded, and then asked softly, "So where do we start?"

"We have to take care of her lungs and ribcage first. I will need to do a more thorough assessment of the chest and abdominal areas to determine the best course of action." Her voice was full of compassion as she continued, "I do not believe I will be able to mend her ribs. Just going on my brief evaluation, I think it might be best to dissolve what is left of the bones and regenerate them with skelegrow. Her leg, I should be able to repair easily enough, and once her lungs are restored, I can begin on her back."

"How long until I can move her to my quarters?" He knew it was best for her to remain in the hospital wing, but knew Minerva would prefer the comfort and privacy of their own rooms before long.

"A few days, I should think, if all goes well. I am going to give her both a potion to relieve some of her pain and a warming draught, she is suffering from exposure on top of everything else. When the potions start to take effect, I will begin the skelegrow and the regeneration of the right lung." She took two vials from the table beside the bed, and lifting Minerva's head gently, began to pour the potion carefully down her throat with expert hand. When the last drops were down, she turned again to Albus. "While we are waiting for the medicine to take hold, I shall go and look over the muggle boy and the others." She opened the curtain to leave, but Albus caught her by the hand.

"Tell them I will be out to address them shortly. And Poppy," he said, his blue eyes searching hers, "thank you."

As she exited towards the other beds, he conjured a chair and drew it close to Minerva's sleeping body. He took her hand gently, and pressed her palm against his face, his lips softly caressing her fingers.

From the other bed beyond the curtain he heard crying. The boy had woken, and Poppy was trying to soothe him with little success. Albus rose, placing Minerva's hand back at her side beneath the cover, and went to offer his assistance calming the child. When he drew back the partition separating the beds, the crying ceased. Albus looked from the child's face to that of his wife's, and realized that the two patients had bonded during the past few hellish hours. He approached cautiously, careful not to block the lad's view of Minerva.

Poppy seemed to sense this cause for assurance as well, and spoke softly, "Leave the curtain open, Albus. It seems to comfort him."

Albus smiled down at the boy. "My name is Albus. What is your name?" His voice was even and warm, and the child turned his lamp-like brown eyes to his. "It's all right," he continued again, "no one will hurt you. Can you tell me what your name is?"

"Bwy-an." It came out in a tiny, childish whisper.

"Brian?" Dumbledore questioned.

He received an affirmative nod in return. Albus smiled. Brian. Well, that wouldn't be hard for him to remember. He smiled down at him, and drawing his wand, produced a large stuffed dinosaur much to Brian's astonished delight. As the child hugged his new toy to him tightly and began to play, Dumbledore turned to Poppy for her diagnosis of any ailments he might have.

"Other than exposure to the elements and being frightened almost to death, he is physically fine. He has some scrapes and bruises that can easily be taken care of. I think it is safe to say he has suffered some great psychological trauma, but that can be taken care of with some memory obliviation charms. I expect he can be returned to his family in the morning, tomorrow afternoon at the latest."

"We can not return him tonight? I was hoping to have him safely back to his family, his poor mother must be terribly worried."

Poppy shook her head. "No, I am not comfortable letting him go sooner. Arthur Weasley and the Department of Muggle Affairs can do the memory modifications in the morning. If all goes well, he can be returned then." She turned her attention back to the child. "Sit here, love, and play with your toy. I will be back soon." And she expertly transfigured his soiled pumpkin costume into a pair of thick, flannel pajamas.

Albus followed her out of the treatment rooms and into her office where the weary Order members waited expectantly, anxious for information. No one seemed to want to be the one to speak first; instead they sat glancing nervously at each other afraid that the news would not be good. Finally Molly broke the uneasy silence.

"How is she, Albus?" her voice fraught with worry.

He stood for a moment, collecting his words. The right ones seemed to be eluding him, all of the emotion and worry and anger distorting his thoughts like feathers in a wind tunnel. When he did speak, his voice was grave and heavy. "She is not faring well, at the moment. Her injuries are extensive and severe; she has lost too much weight, and too much blood. Minerva is very strong, however, and I am confident she will recover with much rest and a lot of time and care."

"Any woman who can withstand four direct stunners to the chest can beat this!" Moody spoke emphatically. It was as if the force of his words were to convince him more than to rally the others. But rally it did. A chorus of affirmatives were shouted out simultaneously around the room, and the burden over Albus's heart seemed to lighten a bit.

"That's right!"

"Here-here!"

"Absolutely!"

"The house elves have prepared rooms for all of you to stay the night, but you may of course return to your own homes if you prefer." He turned to Harry, who was nearly back to being completely Harry again. "Harry, I would like you to stay in the hospital wing this evening, if you will." It was a request, not a command.

Harry nodded. He had some things he wanted to talk with Dumbledore about, and was glad for the opportunity to have some time alone with him.

Due to the lateness of the hour and the exhaustion of all-present, everyone decided to stay at Hogwarts for the night. As they rose wearily to their feet and began to shuffle towards the door, Dumbledore stopped them. "I would like to thank you—all of you, for your help tonight. You have placed yourselves at great risk at my request, and on Minerva's behalf. Never will I be able to repay your bravery and kindness, nor indeed will I ever be able to fully express my gratefulness. You have saved my wife, and with her, myself." His voice was thick with emotion, and eyes grew misty all around. No one uttered a word, just smiled at him, touching his arm in reassurance as they left Madame Pomfrey's office.

Harry looked at him as if he wanted to say something, but hesitated. Albus knew that his role in the evening's events had been anything but easy on him, and that he would soon need to talk with him about the traumatic acts he had committed. He had asked a lot from the boy—things he perhaps had no right to ask, and Harry had come through for him. "Harry," he said gently, I'd like Madame Pomfrey to check you over, make sure there are no ill effects from the polyjuice potion. Professor Snape and I tampered with the formula to increase its longevity, and I would like to make sure it is completely out of your system. When she is finished, if you aren't too tired, I'd like for us to have a talk."

"Yes, sir." Harry was grateful that Dumbledore sensed his need for conversation, his need for assurance and answered questions. As Dumbledore turned to go back to Minerva, Harry stopped him. "Professor?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"You really think she—Professor McGonagall—is going to be okay?"

Dumbledore sighed, but his eyes were hopeful and he smiled at Harry. "Yes, Harry, I do. I think it will be a long, hard recovery. But she will recover—largely thanks to you."

"Professor," Harry began tentatively, but he was quietly cut off.

"We will have plenty of time to talk, Harry, once Madame Pomfrey is finished with you."

"Yes, sir." Harry answered, and Dumbledore left the office.

When he returned to his wife's bedside, he was surprised to find Brian snuggled under the covers against her, both fast asleep. The lad's face was buried into her side, and Minerva had an arm wrapped protectively around him. The little stuffed dinosaur had fallen unnoticed to the floor. He looked at the serene picture before him, and suddenly he was wrenched with regret. There was so much that had been denied them, over the years. They had never been able to even publicly announce their marriage, or even their affection. They had never had children—naturally, or adopted.

And he couldn't help feeling, that if he weren't Albus Dumbledore, if he were just an ordinary wizard, and ordinary man, she wouldn't be lying there on the brink of death. It was foolish and futile, entertaining such thoughts. But right now, at this moment, in the face of Minerva's tortured body struggling for air, laden with pain, he was riddled with guilt. It didn't matter that she had willingly given herself up to Voldemort, fully knowledgeable of his cruelty and intentions. No one knew what the Dark Lord was capable of more than she. It didn't matter that he had had no inkling of her plans and had been powerless to stop her. He _hadn't_ stopped her. He hadn't protected her. He hadn't saved her—not in time. Not in time to prevent the damage and suffering. He knew that she would heal. He knew that her body would soon bear no physical evidence of the past agonizing week. He knew that she would eventually be able to handle teaching her classes, resuming her duties. But would her soul ever heal? Would _she_ ever really be the same? That was what he could not answer. And the question left a hole in his heart, because if she did not heal, he would not heal. The hole would remain, growing ever larger until it swallowed him up, and then he would be beaten. Tom Riddle would win.

He was unaware of the passage of the hour, as he stood standing in silence, angry tears dripping from his long, crooked nose, his cheeks, his chin—soaking his beard and dampening his robes. He was unaware of the young man standing only a few feet away, watching him, sorrow filling his green eyes as he watched his hero's heart breaking and falling to pieces.

Harry was unsure whether he should make his presence known or just quietly turn and make his exit, not wanting to disturb the uncomfortable scene before him but also feeling that perhaps he should say something, do something that might help to offer some comfort. Finally, Dumbledore seemed to become conscious of Harry standing there at the foot of the bed, staring down at his shoes.

"Harry, come and sit." Dumbledore said, taking out a handkerchief and drying his face. He gave his wand a casual flick and another chair appeared next to his at Minerva's bedside.

Harry hesitated, "Professor, if this is a bad time—I can come back later." His face was red and flushed with embarrassment, being caught witnessing such a private moment between his two professors.

"No, sit down. I'm afraid it may be a while before 'times are better', and so now is as good a time as any."

Harry swallowed another protest and took a seat next to Dumbledore. He sat very still, trying to avoid looking at the bruises and cuts exposed on Professor McGonagall's bare skin above the blankets, but found his eyes constantly drawn to them. "She is very badly hurt, isn't she?" He finally asked, his voice low.

"Yes, she is." Dumbledore frowned. "I fear that her internal injuries are far worse than her physical condition; her heart and her mind." His voice was tinged with sadness as he continued; "I almost didn't get to her in time, Harry. I may not have, after all."

"I'm sorry, Professor." Harry didn't know what else to say. They sat in uneasy silence for a moment. "I'm sorry for what I did."

They had reached the topic that was in desperate need of discussion that neither knew quite how to broach. Dumbledore pulled his face away from his wife's, and focused all of his attention on Harry. His eyes were misted with compassion. "I'm sorry for what you had to do, Harry. But I am not sorry that you did it. Had you not acted, had you hesitated, the mission would have been lost and more than just Minerva would have been at Voldemort's mercy. It wouldn't have taken long for them to realize that you were not Draco Malfoy, and you, Remus, and Professor Snape would have been at great risk. It was perhaps too much of me to ask of you, Harry, it _was_ too much to ask. But I will be forever indebted to you for going through with it, for being willing."

Harry felt a deep shame overtake him, rather than pride at his Headmaster's gratitude and praise. He looked down at his hands. "But I did hesitate, Professor. I froze, and Professor Snape had to tell me what to do. I didn't even have my occlumency shields up, I was…terrified." There, he had said it. Now Dumbledore would know that he was no hero; that he had almost blown the entire mission.

"Harry," Dumbledore began, choosing his words carefully. "You did exactly what I asked you to do. I would be less proud of you if hadn't hesitated, if torture and cruelty came easily to you. I am sorry for not arriving sooner, for not sparing you the burden of having to use the Cruciatus." Now it was Dumbledore who's eyes were filled with shame. "I am sorry I was not there soon enough to prevent her from being cursed at all."

Harry nodded, and they lapsed into silence. They both had their actions and guilt to bear, he realized. It was their burden, and only they could deal with it. They sat this way, both mulling over their own thoughts, the silence unbroken until the little boy, Brian, moved in his sleep, causing Minerva's face to flinch, a small moan escaping her lips. She did not wake, however, and only tightened her protective grip around the child's waist.

"Professor," Harry began again. He had one more question he needed answered. One more event weighing heavy in his mind. "Just before you got there, he—Voldemort—wanted me—wanted Draco, to kill the little muggle boy. I couldn't do it, I wasn't going to do it…and I don't know what would have happened if Professor McGonagall hadn't interrupted. She distracted him." He wasn't sure how much of this Dumbledore knew, or what he should tell him. "She spoke up—I didn't even realize she was conscious—and she said to him 'you win'. She crawled to him, she begged him not to kill him, and it seemed…it seemed like they made a deal, she called him 'Lord Voldemort'. And then….she…kissed him." Harry could feel the fire in his cheeks as he said these last words. Did he know that already? Did he see her kiss him? He didn't understand what had happened, but he knew that if she hadn't intervened he would have had to murder the boy, or compromise the mission. And he knew he would never have cursed the child.

Dumbledore said nothing for a moment. He had seen the kiss. Indeed he had heard the entire exchange—her plea for the child's life, her plea for both children, really. She had prevented the death of two children: the life of the muggle, the soul of Draco—Harry—by preventing him from committing murder. And unwittingly, she had helped to thwart Voldemort, and aid the mission. Her distraction had not only removed Harry from an impossible situation, but it had allowed him the time he needed to approach unseen, the entire Order to move into position and begin the attack. Once again, love and integrity had defeated Tom Riddle. Powers that Tom Riddle jeered at, did not believe in; did not understand.

"Tonight's events were no longer centered around the initiation of new Death Eaters, Harry. It had some time ago become about a power of wills between Voldemort and Professor McGonagall. That battle was begun years ago when she refused to marry him, and refused to join his cause. It continued when he tortured and killed that muggle family in London; almost killed her as well. And it has been going on the last seven days, when she decided to trade herself for the three students he had taken prisoner. She almost lost tonight, because she would not allow him to kill an innocent child, or corrupt the innocence of another." He stopped, taking a moment to control the torrent of emotions that were flooding through him. Anger and pride, sorrow and love. "If she recovers, the battle continues."

Harry could not help but detect the small molecule of fear in his words. Fear that she _wouldn't_ recover along with fear that she would, and fear that the battle would be fought again in the future.

"What if she hadn't—what if you hadn't gotten there in time? We would have failed. I would have lost the entire—"

"Harry," Dumbledore said, his words kind, but firm. "You and I both know you would not have performed the killing curse on that child." Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Dumbledore raised his hand to stop him. "There is no use in wondering what would have happened. It is over. What _did_ happen is what matters. Do not torture yourself with what might have beens." He placed a comforting hand on Harry's arm. "I am very proud of your conduct. You have proven once again that you are a true Gryffindor."

Harry smiled at him, feeling some relief from the heavy guilt he had been harboring lift off of his heart. "If you don't mind, sir, I think I'll go to bed now."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled up at him. "Sleep well, Harry."

Harry passed Madame Pomfrey as he exited through the opening of the curtain to find his own cot for the night.

Poppy frowned as she saw Brian pressed against Minerva's side, and looked questioningly over at Albus. "Albus, I know the child is attached to Minerva, but do you think it wise for him to be sleeping with her? He is likely to move about and injure her further."

"She seems calmer with him there, Poppy, so I did not move him. I do not think Minerva is fully aware of her surroundings, and that she is alarmed as to the child's safety if he is not with her. If he begins thrashing about in his sleep I shall move him back to his bed."

"Very well, Albus." Poppy felt Minerva's pulse and noted that it did indeed seem more regular, and her breathing was more slow and even since the child had crawled in with her. She sat a bottle of skelegrow on the table, and began her work, dissolving the fragmented rib bones in her right side, spooning the potion carefully into Minerva's mouth. "In a few hours, the ribcage will begin to reform, and then I will be able to begin the lung regeneration." She moved her wand to Minerva's left leg, and murmured a healing spell. Albus noticed that her leg moved under the cover, aligning itself properly once again.

"Albus, why don't you try and get some sleep? She will not wake until morning, if then. You haven't slept in days. I will wake you if there is the slightest change in her condition."

Albus shook his head. "No, Poppy, I cannot sleep."

"Albus, be reasonable. You are no good to her if you become exhausted and ill yourself. Climb into one of the empty beds. I promise I will get you if she so much as twitches a finger."

Albus raised his weary blue eyes to Poppy's worried grey ones. "No, Poppy. I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see what they've done to her. It would be torture for me to try and rest now."

"Albus—"

"I need to be here if she opens her eyes. I want her to see me, to know that I'm here. I want her to see me every single time she wakes. I won't leave her." His words were spoken with finality and Poppy knew further argument was useless.

"Wake me when Severus arrives, then. I am sure he will have need of attention." She rose to leave, pausing before she passed through the curtain out of sight. "And Albus, wake me if there is any change—any at all. I will check back in a few hours." And the curtain closed, leaving them alone.


	20. Chapter 20

Sorry it is taking so long to update & finish this! Due to remodeling, I have no home computer access, so I am reduced to writing in a notebook and then transcribing it under the radar at work--or perhaps not entirely under the radar as my friend webgirl can attest:) Anyway, I promise the next chapter will be up very soon, I just wanted to get something posted. Thanks so very much for all the reviews!

Chapter 20

It was early morning when Severus Snape finally limped through the great wooden doors of Hogwarts and managed to drag himself up to the hospital wing. Hagrid had been waiting to meet him just inside the gate and had taken him by boat across the lake, something he hadn't experienced since he was a first year. His stiff, swollen joints were grateful for the gentle ride over the glassy water.

Hagrid had offered to carry him up the steps and to Madame Pomfrey, and it was only his deep and healthy reserve of pride that enabled him to decline and make the daunting trek on his own. As he entered the quiet hospital wing he glimpsed the silhouette of Albus Dumbledore, hunched over in a chair, his chin resting in his hands. His outline was cast in flashing shadows from the lamp on the bedside table, made larger than life against the pale, thin curtain. He sat very still, like a statue; not stirring as Severus softly pulled the door closed behind him.

He was headed towards the forlorn figure behind the curtain when a lamp suddenly lit behind him and he heard Poppy's voice quietly whisper his name. He turned to face her and she gestured silently for him to enter her office. Her eyes widened as he stepped through the doorway but she said nothing as she took in his chalky pallor. He was even paler than usual despite the flush of exertion in his cheeks. He collapsed into a chair without being told, his pain and exhaustion finally getting the better of him.

"What happened, Severus?" Poppy asked him as she began checking him over, her wand humming slightly as it cast its diagnostic spells.

"Dumbledore cursed me," he muttered, his brain too tired to speak coherently. Poppy raised her eyebrows in astonishment and waited for him to elaborate. "He hexed me with some excruciating version of 'Petrificus Totalus'." He sighed, as Poppy's eyes grew even wider. "He had to do something convincing, Poppy, or the Dark Lord would grow suspicious. I was cursed by him twice with the Cruciatus as it was."

"What did you tell him?"

"I gave him the story Dumbledore and I came up with: That I had already left for the Death Eater meeting, and that young Malfoy must have been caught sneaking out of the Halloween feast. He was followed, he and Lestrange found and apprehended; and the Order members used polyjuice and the port key to infiltrate the initiation ceremony."

"And he bought it?" Her words were tentative but hopeful.

"I believe so. He allowed me to return alive, at any rate. I have become quite adept at blocking a legilimens under extreme duress over the years; Cruciatus, Imperio, medieval means of physical torture. I daresay the story would not have worked if Dumbledore hadn't attacked me in battle."

Poppy suppressed a shiver at the casual way he related these facts. She looked at him for a long moment, eyes brimming with compassion. "You are going to be fine, Severus. I am going to give you a potion to ease the swelling in your joints; you should be good as new in a day or so." Her voice had taken on a professional, clinical tone that softened as she handed him a vial. "Drink it down, it should take effect immediately."

He tossed the potion back, feeling a slight burn as it slid down his throat, the warmth spreading across his body. Handing the empty tube back to her he glanced out the office window and asked the question he'd been avoiding. "How is she, Poppy?"

Poppy's grey eyes clouded over with worry and her voice was heavy when she answered, "Not well, I'm afraid. Minerva has always been strong, and there is a good chance she'll heal; physically. But, I don't know, Severus. She looks so—so broken. No one else would have survived. Her body is weakened and the treatments to heal her are going to be taxing and unpleasant. But it is her mind I am worried about."

Severus looked at her, his eyes conveying his understanding. Poppy had good reason to be worried about Minerva's mental and emotional recovery. He knew what she had been subjected to, and overcoming would not be easy.

"Perhaps if you could tell me a bit about it, Severus? What you know? The more I know about what happened, the better equipped I can be to help her."

Severus sighed. "I don't know everything that happened, understand." But what he knew was more than plenty, he mused bitterly. More than should ever have to be endured. He didn't know if he should tell anyone. He had confided in Dumbledore, but anyone else, even Poppy—might be a breach of Minerva's confidence. She was so private, so dignified. There was a good chance she'd be furious with him if he told. On the other hand, Poppy Pomfrey was Minerva's oldest and closest friend. And she was a healer, bound by the rules of patient confidentiality. She was right, he knew. She needed to know the details, or she couldn't properly treat her patient, and she couldn't properly help her friend. There was nothing to it, but just to begin, and so he did—plunging into the cold facts as if he had merely been an outsider reporting for the Daily Prophet.

"She was kept in a completely dark, freezing cold cell. The first night she arrived she was—raped. He shut his eyes against the harsh word. "By the Dark Lord. That was to be, I believe, repeated many times, over the next days. There was an evening when she was given to Crabbe and Goyle for an entire night; after being subjected to the Cruciatus Curse some twenty-one times."

Poppy's mouth had dropped open in horror. "Twenty-one hits?" she breathed, her words a mixture of anger and incredulity. "How? How could she survive—my god, Severus, twenty-one times?"

"In succession."

"Oh, my—"Was all Poppy could say.

"She was subjected to lengthy sessions of legilimens. He invaded her mind, learned all of her darkest memories, all of her fears and used them against her. He played them out over and over; changing the scenarios to match her worst nightmares. And then, there was Lucius Malfoy." His voice tremored with anger as he spoke the name. "You saw her back? Her face—her ribcage?"

Poppy nodded, swallowing a painful lump of tears rising in her throat.

"Compliments of Malfoy," he said flatly. "I don't know specifically of anything else, except the muggle boy."

"Brian?"

Severus shrugged; he didn't know the child's name. "He was brought to the ceremony for Minerva's benefit. She had to endure the Crucitatus three times in total silence or they would torture the boy."

"No!" Poppy exclaimed, horrified at the thought of the chubby, brown-eyed toddler an object of torture. Tears were now falling from her eyes. "But Minerva—surely, Severus, she didn't—you meant to say three hits—"

"She did. Three hits in total silence. I feared she was dead, so still was she when it was over. But then the Dark Lord ordered Potter to kill the boy, and she spoke up, and stopped him. She crawled to him on her hands and knees, she knelt before him—" he had to stop for a moment, remembering the revolting, humiliating sight of the proud and noble Minerva McGonagall humbly offering herself to the Dark Lord in trade for the child. The image made him ill. "She kissed him, fainted, and Dumbledore and the rest of the Order appeared." He said the last sentence rather quickly, wanting to spit the words out and be done with them. He was glad to be finished with the tale, he wanted nothing more than to put it behind him for a few hours; to forget Minerva's face as she pulled the Dark Lord's mouth down to hers, to forget the way she had looked so frail, and felt so utterly breakable that night in his arms after Malfoy had had his way with her. He knew he would not forget it, though, not soon—perhaps not ever.

Poppy sat silently for a few moments, stunned, absorbing the words Severus had spoken. Her mind rebelled against the images it automatically conjured as the facts were relayed; horrific scenes that made her heart shudder for her friend—though she knew her worst imaginings could not do justice to the brutal reality of the events. Her gaze wandered to the shadows against the curtain just outside her door and she noted again that Albus had not moved since she had left him, his body not shifting an inch. Being one of the few privy to the private lives and relationship between Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall she knew that this might perhaps be even harder on _him_ than her. Minerva's nature was ever practical; she tended to look things straight in the eye and move forward, accepting them as they were. Albus, she knew, would hold himself responsible no matter that he was not at fault. He would blame himself regardless for the rest of his life. If Minerva pulled through, if she could put this behind her, she would pull Albus through as well. If not, well, Poppy feared she would lose more than one friend and patient. Albus took everything in stride; he was ever optimistic; ever hopeful. He was wise, and he knew the perspective that life's decisions and their respective consequences should be given. But he took everything to heart, nonetheless, having to live with the responsibility his power and influence wielded on the lives of others. He could take things in stride; endure the consequences and responsibility—because he had Minerva to come home to. He had her wisdom, strength, and love to shore him up, unwavering against the tides and storms of life. Now that levy was in danger of breaking. Would Albus Dumbledore survive its collapse?

The faint glow of morning light was beginning to shine through the window. "Severus," Poppy said firmly, "You need rest." She was determined to have at least _one_ patient sleep.

He shook his head. "I will sleep later. I want to look in on Minerva first." He stifled a yawn, and rose determinedly to his feet. The room swayed ever so slightly and then cleared again as he steadied himself by bracing his hand against the wall. He was tired, he admitted to himself. But Severus knew there would be no rest until he saw Minerva breathing with his own eyes, and spoke with Dumbledore.

"Very well," Poppy sighed, wondering not for the first time why everyone wanted her assistance but never heeded her advice. "Tell Albus I shall be in shortly to check her over myself."

Severus stepped through the opening in the curtain but Albus did not look up. His eyes were open, fixated on Minerva—or perhaps were seeing beyond her. He was surprised to see the little muggle child sleeping soundly, curled into Minerva's good side. It would have been a pretty picture of domestic tranquility if not for the purple blotches covering her exposed skin above the blankets. Dumbledore was still looking at or through his wife's sleeping face and he cleared his throat, perhaps a little too loudly, announcing his presence.

Dumbledore turned tired, hollow eyes to his. "Severus? I'm glad you made it back in one piece. Are you all right?"

"Quite." He didn't feel the need to elaborate further; Dumbledore could easily guess the aftermath of the battle. "How is she?"

"She has been resting peacefully since we've been back. Little Brian seems to comfort her, her breathing and pulse evened considerably when he crawled in with her. She hasn't woken; I don't know whether that is good or bad. Poppy says she won't until morning at the earliest."

"It is good that she is sleeping so soundly. I feared the pain would make her restless."

"She was, until the boy climbed in with her. I am not sure if she knows she is safe, and I believe she is worried about him. His nearness reassures her." He sighed again, heavier this time. In a few hours Arthur would be performing the memory charms and returning Brian back to his family. It was selfish of him, he knew, but he wished in his heart the child could stay a little longer. He wasn't entirely sure how Minerva's subconscious would react to his absence. "Her injuries are far worse than I had imagined."

Severus nodded slowly, knowing that Dumbledore had imagined the worst. But he hadn't really been prepared, none of them had. Severus had not seen her up close like this since the night he had found what Lucius had left of her. He hadn't known anything that had happened since, though apparently quite a lot had. He felt the guilt rising; he had done all he could—but it wasn't nearly enough.

He could sense that Dumbledore did not wish to talk. That he just wanted to be left alone with his thoughts and his grief. Severus felt the same. "The Dark Lord seemed to believe the story, Headmaster."

Albus smiled apologetically. "Good. I am sorry about the hex. I know it is quite painful."

"It was necessary." He turned to go. "Poppy says she will be in to assess Minerva in a moment."

"Thank you, Severus." And then, Dumbledore's eyes turned hard, a coldness shining through them that he had never witnessed before. "And Lucius?" His voice had a distinctive edge to it as he spoke the name.

"Ah. I believe that Lucius Malfoy will be spending a lengthy visit in St. Mungo's." He paused for a moment, his voice void of emotion. "He has a wretched set of boils from head to toe, and he was also hit with Sectum Sempra."

"Indeed?"

"He has lost a great deal of blood. The bastard almost bled to death before the Dark Lord conceded they seek treatment for him. Damn shame, if you ask me."

Dumbledore closed his eyes, allowing himself the briefest of smiles. His expression quickly sobering again as he said with a venom that made Severus step back in surprise; "Death is too swift a punishment."

His eyes had returned to Minerva's body, weak and shattered on the bed before him. Severus was struck at the pain and fear in the old man's eyes as he gazed upon her, as if his desperate vigil could heal her, hold her life to his. It was clear that he was no longer aware that Severus was in the room, so focused was he on the subtle rise and fall of her chest, proof that she was still among the living. "Get well, Minerva," Severus's voice a pleading whisper, inaudible to anyone's ears but his own, as he quietly slipped out of the room and down the hall, towards his own rooms deep under the dungeons.


	21. Chapter 21 Resurfacing

Chapter 21

_Minerva stirred slightly, stopping as she became aware of the little body pressed into hers. She smiled, looking down at the spiky black hair as unruly as his father's had been. She shifted imperceptibly to see his face better, so smooth and innocent in his baby dreams. She was so thankful that Albus had volunteered their babysitting services so that James and Lily could go off on a weekend holiday alone. The war had grown so fierce of late that everyone walked around a bundle of nerves, frightened of their own shadows. The fear was taking its toll on the Order of the Phoenix especially, as everyday there were more disappearances, more bodies discovered._

_James and Lily had earned a well-deserved break, but they were afraid to leave Harry alone, only consenting because Albus offered to bring him to Hogwarts with them. Hogwarts was the only safe haven, the lone oasis in a desert of violence. Snuggled as she was between her husband and the baby it was hard for her to remember there was a war on at all. It was the best weekend she had had in years; peaceful and natural, the way she had always imagined she would feel if she and Albus had had a child of their own. She stroked the soft, black head against her shoulder wishing again that this contentment could last longer than one night._

_*****_

"Albus?"

Poppy's voice broke through his concentration, and he looked up. He had been staring at Minerva for what had likely been hours, attempting to impose his will upon her—to heal, to return to him.

"Has she been resting like that all night?" She felt Minerva's wrist, counting the beats driving her pulse.

"Yes," he said wearily, "She has been quite peaceful. I haven't heard any indication of pain for some time."

Poppy's head bobbed in acknowledgement, her gentle hands deftly moving across key parts of Minerva's body: her forehead, neck, and her side. When she pressed slightly against the soft wall of her abdomen, feeling where the ribs should be, Minerva's face tightened in her sleep, and a sharp moan escaped her lips. Neither she nor the toddler in her arms woke from their dreaming.

"The skelegrow is only now beginning to work. I can't feel any rib bones as of yet. I am afraid her discomfort will increase greatly when they do begin to grow. It's good she is resting now." She eyed Dumbledore with a calculated practice. "Speaking of rest, Albus, you really should try and get some yourself."

"Not quite yet, Poppy. I need to wait until she wakes up. I want her to see me here, next to her." _I need to see her wake up,_ he added silently to himself.

"As you wish," Poppy said, clearly giving up. "Arthur and Kingsley are here to take Brian back to his family. It seems that Kingsley has used his influence with the muggle Prime Minister to arrange for him to be 'found' unharmed and delivered to his parents by the muggle authorities."

"You think he is well enough to return then, Poppy?" Albus asked, concerned.

"He seems to have suffered no ill effects, physically speaking. After Arthur performs the memory obliviation charms I'll do one last assessment and send them on their way." She studied Albus's face more closely, the worry evident in his eyes. "Is something wrong, Albus? I thought you wanted to return him to his mother straight away."

Albus sighed. "Of course we need to return him as soon as possible. His poor mother must be out of her mind with worry. It's just…just that I fear Minerva's condition will deteriorate with him gone. His nearness does seem to soothe her somehow."

Poppy placed her hand on Albus's shoulder, her voice warm and soft with emotion. "Severus told me what happened, Albus. What she did to save him—to protect him."

He swallowed hard as the harrowing image resurfaced in his memory. "If you could have seen her, Poppy. She didn't know we were coming, that we were there." He stopped speaking abruptly, but the guilt he felt hung tangibly in the air.

"You got her out, Albus. She's safe now."

Albus smiled sadly at her, as if to say it was not enough that she was safe now. That it would never be enough to him. He rose slowly and moved to lift Brian from her embrace. The effect was immediate. As soon as his arms began to tug gently at the toddler's body, removing him from her side she lurched forward, crying out against the pain in her sleep, clutching him more tightly to her. Her movements jolted Brian awake and he began to cry almost instantly, bewildered at this unexpected tug of war. Her hold on him was desperate but her weakened state did not allow for resistance. Another gentle pull and Albus handed the child to Poppy, who held him to her chest, whispering words of comfort as she whisked him out to where Arthur and Kingsley were waiting.

Albus stared down at his wife in alarm. He had been right to fear her reaction. Her face so peaceful before now had a look of panic, even in unconsciousness. Her hands reached out weakly around her, grasping wildly for something she could neither find nor reach. The movement was causing her pain. A sheen of perspiration broke out across her forehead, her breathing increasingly shallow and rapid. His arms reached to restrain her, and he could feel her attempts to fight against him, but the strength was just not there. "Minerva, love," he spoke softly, his words calm and steady, "Everything is all right. Brian—the child is fine, love. He is fine. You are safe now. You are both safe."

"_Shhh...love, hold tight to me. We must be very still, very quiet." She spoke in hushed tones as she crouched against the corner of the stone pillars. The night was so dark she could see nothing, not even the live burden in her arms. If she could only keep the child still it was possible they might remain unseen. The ground was shaking as the battle raged, she could feel it rock beneath her. She heard the sizzle of stray spells bursting against the cold air angry at their lack of contact as they whizzed past their intended objects. A shadow moved towards her, the shape darker than the night around it. A light was coming from a face, twisted and inhuman. She turned her body against the rock attempting to shield his small body, but she was too late. They had been discovered. _

_Her strength was not enough, though she clutched him to her chest with all her might, she felt him being pulled from her grasp. "Please, Tom, no!" she begged, arms reaching towards him. "Please, you have me… do what you will with me, but don't hurt him. He's a child, just a child. Please!" His body was wrenched from her, a look of terror on his face. "Don't! Don't hurt him. I'll do anything—anything—please, leave him be." But she was pleading with empty darkness. _

_Vaguely she was aware of strong, gentle hands restraining her, and a voice—calm and reassuring was speaking in the distance. Albus? Was it really Albus? She warred within herself, wanting desperately to find him: to resurface and see him, feel him, to hear him. And yet she struggled against the desire, positive she would wake and see the crimson eyes of Tom Riddle, boring cruelly into her instead of the luminous blue eyes she longed to see. _

_There was a burning in her side, searing through her across her chest. It was hard to breathe. Perhaps she was dying, she mused—the thought was welcome. If only she could have saved the child…._

"Minerva, love, can you hear me? You are home. The boy is fine. Everything is going to be fine, love, just fine." Her eyes fluttered open, out of focus as they blinked against the light. "Minerva? Darling, can you see me? It's me, love, it's Albus." As her eyes slowly adjusted to her surroundings he was rocked with sadness at the guarded look of confusion he saw in them. There was no trust as they gazed up at him. His heart broke with the knowledge that she could be afraid of him. Him. He who would have destroyed himself with his own hands bit by bit before he would ever harm her. "Minerva, it is me, Albus. You are back home, at Hogwarts, you are safe. No one will harm you further."

She studied him for a few moments, cautiously raising a shaking hand to his face, her cold fingers making tentative contact with his cheek. Her fingertips slowly felt their way over his face, his beard, his lips. "Albus?" she finally spoke, her voice dry and hoarse. "Albus, is it really you?"

"Yes, love." Her fingers were trembling lightly against him and he covered her hand with his, pressing them closer. He needed to feel her, to feel the pulse beneath her skin. She still looked as though she didn't quite believe him. Her fingers were becoming damp from the tears that were quietly escaping his eyes. The wetness seemed to wake her, to bring her into reality.

Panic overtook her and she jerked herself up, immediately regretful of the movement. "Where is he?" she gasped through the pain, "what happened to him—where is he?" She was madly trying to push herself up, fighting against the excruciating jolts of pain running through her as she did so. Albus pushed her gently back against the bed, carefully holding her as still as he possibly could with her writhing against him, the wild terror in her green eyes growing exponentially as they searched the room for him.

"Brian is fine. Arthur Weasley just came to take him back to his family."

"Brian?" She was trying to make sense of it, but the pain was making coherent thought difficult.

"Yes. The boy's name is Brian. Arthur and Kingsley are taking him back to his mother as we speak. He is perfectly fine, Min. You saved him." He could see the relief wash over her, and her body relaxed, dropping back against the pillow. She winced as her back hit the soft sheet, but the fear had left her eyes. More carefully she tried again to raise herself into a sitting position, but Albus increased the pressure on her shoulders. "Minerva, you must lie very still. Listen to me," he said in a soft yet firm voice as she continued to struggle against him, "Poppy had to dissolve your ribcage. She has given you skelegrow, but the bones aren't reforming yet. There is nothing to protect the organs on the right side of your body. I am going to let go of you, but you must lie very still." Slowly he released his grip on her arms and readjusted the blanket that had fallen away, recovering her.

Her eyes widened in shock as she became suddenly aware that she had nothing on. She flushed, the heated color contrasting oddly against the mottled yellow and green tainting her pale skin. "Albus, my clothes—where—I need a robe, a gown." Her voice was weak but desperate.

"It's all right, love," he soothed, "you have been completely covered. Poppy doesn't want anything clinging to your skin until she is able to heal your back." His words that had been intended to reassure her, however, had the opposite effect; indeed, Minerva seemed to grow markedly more distressed.

"Albus, please. I need a gown, please get me one." Tears were welling up, threatening to spill over. "Please…I look so—please…I don't want you to see me—"

So that was the cause of her agitation. She was trying to shield him from the extent of her injuries. "Minerva, I have seen you already. I was with you when Poppy conducted her examination, I saw it all." Her flush grew deeper, and her eyes took on a hollow, empty expression. He felt his anger rise with in him mixed with sorrow and fear, the emotions growing evident in his voice as he spoke. He tried to keep the fury at bay, but his hands balled into fists at his side, as he tried to banish the picture of her suffering from his mind.

A deep shame overtook her. It was too late, she realized. He had seen the damage. He had looked upon her: ravaged, broken, and used. He had seen it all. Hot, angry tears spilled down her cheeks, wetting her hair and pillow as she turned her face away from him. The full extent of her torture and abuse had been laid out coldly before him in all its brutal ugliness, and she couldn't keep it from him. She had known all along that he would _know_ what was happening. Albus had recovered many a victim's lifeless body left waiting to be found after the Death Eaters had finished with it. And of course, Severus would have told him—reported what he knew. But she had hoped in the deepest recesses of her mind that if he only knew generally of her abuse she could salvage his regard for her. Ridiculous, truly, for she had fully expected to die, but there had always been the tiniest seed of hope that she would be with him again. Now that hope was destroyed, because he knew, and would discard her like the piece of rubbish she had become. She had heard the anger in his voice, seen it in his eyes. He had every right to be angry. She had done this to him; to both of them. She had placed herself in this situation; it was her doing, her fault. Yes, he was right to be angry. She couldn't bear to look at him, and choked out between her sobs the most feeble of apologies. "Forgive me, Albus. I didn't expect to live."

This was not the reaction he had anticipated. He could see the shame in her eyes, which he understood. That was a common if unfounded response victims of sexual assault often experienced. But to feel shame because of him? He was her husband, for Merlin's sake! Didn't she know that he could only look upon her with love and devotion, as he always had? "Min, darling, look at me. Please, look at me." But her eyes remained turned, fixated on the curtained wall, large tears rolling down her hollow cheeks. "Minerva, listen to me. Your shame is unfounded. I saw and it angers me—angers me at those bastards who thought it was their right to hurt you. Please don't think that I would ever be—"

Her breath was coming in shrill wheezes, the torrent of her tears taxing her working lung to its limit. He cupped his fingers around her chin, trying to turn her face to his. She closed her eyes, cringing as his fingers pressed against the bruises across her cheekbone. Horrified, his hand dropped away. Damn you, Albus Dumbledore, he cursed himself. He had been trying to comfort her, but he had undeniably caused the involuntary flinch that had crossed her features. His alarm grew as the wheezing breaths evolved into sharp, ragged gasps.

"Please, Albus," she whispered, her voice so faint he could barely hear it, "please get me a gown."

"I will, love." He watched her struggle for air. The tears had stopped and her eyes were closed, her lips tinted a faint blue color. "I'll be right back, Min, right back." But he doubted that she heard him.

He emerged from the partition separating Minerva's bed from the rest of the hospital wing.

"Albus? What happened, is Minerva—" her voice was anxious as she rushed to meet him.

"She is awake—was awake. Poppy, she wants me to get her a gown to wear. I told her you didn't think it wise to have anything against her skin until her back heals, but she became quite distraught. She worked herself into a frenzy, you'd better see to her. I am going to fetch a robe." He walked past the concerned mediwitch, consumed in his own tormented thoughts.

Poppy hurried to Minerva's bedside, alarmed at her friend's quickened pulse and labored breathing. "Minerva, are you awake? It's Poppy."

Minerva's eyes opened and she turned her face up to Poppy's, but she was unable to speak. Her chest burned and the room spun round, dotted with hazy spots.

"Minerva, I need you to calm yourself. You are hyperventilating, and you only have one lung at present. Try and breathe slowly, love. Nice and slow." She placed her hand across Minerva's damp forehead, her fingers stroking through her hair. "That's it, Min, that's right. Just slow, deep breaths."

Minerva concentrated on Poppy's words, trying her best to comply. She felt as though she were drowning. The fire in her lung began to dull, and the room stopped spinning. But the despair in her heart was dragging her downward in a rapid spiral.

Sensing her distress Poppy spoke. "Albus has gone to get you a robe, dear. He'll be back in a moment."

"Poppy, he saw everything." Her voice sounded small and far away to her ears.

"Yes, love, he did. I tried to make him leave, but he wouldn't budge. He hasn't left your side."

"I never wanted anyone to see."

The pain laden in the softly spoken statement tore at Poppy's heart. The humiliation would be hard for anyone to bear, but for Minerva, it must be another kind of torture all together. She had always been so dignified, modest. And proud. "No one saw, love. Just Albus and myself."

"And Severus."

"Yes, Severus, too." Minerva's eyes were vacant, staring beyond her. Poppy suppressed a shudder, wondering what Minerva was seeing right now. "Minerva, we had to examine you, love. I was so afraid you might…die. But you must know that none of us, neither Severus nor myself will ever share this with anyone. And Albus is your husband, Minerva. He loves you, he needed to know."

"I can bear that you have seen. And Severus. But Albus, oh Poppy—what have I done?" She had killed Albus's love for her, that is what she had done. For how could he look upon her and still want her? Damn Lucius Malfoy. He left the physical evidence, the proof she could not hide. She felt the hysteria rising up with in her and desperately tried to beat it back down. "Poppy, I can't live—without him. He did this to me because he knew that he wouldn't—that Albus wouldn't—he told me so, every time he—"

"Hush now, Min," Poppy murmured, seeing that Minerva was getting worked up again. She had to keep her calm and still, so that she didn't further injure herself. "Albus loves you, Minerva. He always will."

"How can he? Poppy, what they did—they're not men, they're monsters. And they did it to hurt him, Poppy. Him, not me. They knew it all along, they used me to hurt him. Tom…he said so…he said that now that I…that Albus…" She stopped speaking abruptly and grabbed her side, soft where there should have been resistance. There was a stabbing sensation, hot and sharp under her skin, pushing outward from her spine.

Poppy saw her face twist in the pain, and knew instantly what it meant. The skelegrow was working. "The bones are growing back, Min, that's all. It'll be very painful, but it will end in a few hours. Then we can regenerate your lung." But Minerva wasn't listening, she had pressed her eyes tightly shut, her mouth set in a thin line. Poppy wiped her own eyes, then, knowing that Minerva's internal battle was going to be much harder to win than the one her body was fighting. She sat in the chair at the bedside, her fingers still gently running through her hair. What hell had she been through these last seven days? They had seen the physical evidence, but they all knew that the marks visible on her body were only the tip of the iceberg. The Cruciatus didn't leave marks, nor did the nightmares and memories and the torture of one's mind and spirit. They did not leave marks on the outside, but they left scars on the soul.

"I hurt him…oh, Albus, forgive me…" Poppy heard the nearly inaudible whisper as she saw Minerva sink out of consciousness.


	22. Chapter 22 Truths

**There is an author's note at the end of the chapter containing a humble disclaimer, I didn't want to include it at the beginning and give anything away. I truly, truly thank everyone who is still reading this.**

Chapter 22, Truths

Minerva woke several hours later, finding herself clothed in a soft cotton nightdress. Poppy was still sitting next to her, but Albus was gone. She wanted to speak with him, to tell him how sorry she was for her conduct earlier. She had behaved abominably, and it was time to pull herself together. "Poppy? Where is he?" she asked, her voice fragile yet determined.

"Albus left only a few minutes ago, love. He had to meet with the Minister of Magic about some matter, no doubt urgent because he hasn't left your side since he brought you back. I expect he won't be gone long."

"I behaved so childishly, Poppy, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have carried on so and upset him like that."

"Minerva, you have nothing to be sorry for. We are so grateful—_Albus_ is so grateful to have you back with us, alive. You had a scare when we took the child from you, Min. We expected as much, you weren't entirely aware of your surroundings." Poppy took Minerva's self beratement as a good sign. She must be feeling better to be so concerned about the standards of what she considered proper behavior for herself.

"So the child…Brian, is fine? He is returned to his family?"

"Yes. Arthur Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt delivered him safe and sound a few hours ago."

"Good." Minerva exhaled in a sigh of relief. "And the others, Poppy? The other Order members? Moody and Tonks?"

"All are fine, Minerva. The Order of the Phoenix suffered no casualties," she gave Minerva a stern glance, "other than you, my dear."

"They shouldn't have come, Poppy. It was much too dangerous. But, I am glad that they did. Tom would have killed the boy. I am certain of it." For a moment she was lost in the memory of young Draco Malfoy, poised with wand ready, the conflict of the order to kill visible in his blue eyes.

"Minerva, I am glad they saved the boy. But they came for you, and I am glad that you were not left at the mercy of those…._monsters_….a moment longer." She felt the burning of tears wanting release behind her eyes, and blinked them back.

"As am I, Poppy." Minerva said softly, taking her friend's hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

The two friends sat in silence for several moments, the history between them making words unnecessary. Finally, Poppy spoke up. "Min, your ribs have finished growing back. You will be sore for a few days, but that will pass. Do you feel like sitting up for a while? It would ease the burden on your lung considerably."

"That would be lovely, Poppy, thank you. I feel like such an invalid just lying here all the time."

Poppy moved to help her, gently propping cushions to support her back and then raising her up against them, taking care to move slowly so as not to pull the tightened skin too roughly. "There now, how's that?"

Minerva took a deep breath, waiting for the pain to subside. When it did, she found she was indeed breathing easier. She felt more normal, more equal to herself sitting up. She looked to her bedside table and found a hairbrush and her reading glasses lying on the top. She reached for the brush, but found she didn't have the strength to drag it through her tangled locks. Poppy obliged her, running the brush gently over her long, dark tresses. "Albus thought you might like to read a bit. He brought some of your first and second years' essays for you to mark." Poppy handed her the stack of parchment and an automatic refilling-ink quill.

Minerva smiled, pulling the glasses down to the edge of her nose, and perusing the first essay. She was beginning to feel somewhat human again.

"How is the pain, Minerva?" Poppy asked.

"It is there, Poppy, but manageable. I daresay I have become accustomed to living with pain these last days, so that I hardly take notice." Her voice turned serious. "It is the dreams that are horrid. I cannot sleep without living through some hellish nightmare. I think I fear sleep more than anything."

Poppy looked at her in quiet understanding. "Albus said the same thing to me. He says he can not bear to sleep for seeing you, seeing them torture you."

Minerva looked up sharply, sadness in her eyes. "Albus said that?"

"He did. I don't believe he has slept since the night you left."

"Oh Poppy," Minerva sighed, once again fighting the rise of guilt and sadness. "I have hurt him so badly."

Poppy smiled compassionately at her friend. "Min, you were just doing what you thought was best. And Albus was and is just doing what he thinks is best. You are just being, well _you_. And Albus loves _you_." Her tone took on a playful, teasing note. "And you are both the two most insurfferably stubborn people I have ever met!"

Minerva smiled at the good-natured jibe, not bothering to disagree; she supposed it might be true. But though she smiled, the worry did not completely disappear from her eyes. Would Albus forgive her for what she had done? For the pain she had caused him, for the danger she had placed the others in? Would he be able to look upon her as he once did, before all of this happened? Rationally, she thought so. But there was a finger of fear, placing a cold stab of pressure on her heart that she had killed his love for her forever. She needed to see him and assess the situation, to see for herself the damage that may or may not have been done. "When will I be able to go back to my room?" she asked, pushing the other questions reeling though her mind from the forefront.

Poppy studied her intently for a moment before answering. "It depends. I am going to start regenerating your lung as soon as Albus returns. I could do it now, but he wishes to be here with you. If your body accepts the new lung well then I see no reason why you may not return to your own bed. I can examine you just as easily several times a day there, and you can have more privacy."

Minerva glanced down at the stack of parchment lying next to her. "And my classes, Poppy? When can I resume teaching?"

At this dreaded question Poppy steeled herself, preparing for the fight she knew would be coming. In a slow, firm voice she answered, "If you continue to heal, get plenty of rest—and food," she emphasized the word 'food', noting again how thin Minerva had become, "and do exactly as I say, then you may resume your teaching duties after the Christmas Holidays."

Minerva merely nodded. "Very well."

No further argument ensued, and Poppy found herself taken aback. Her friend must be feeling frightful indeed, if informing her that she would not be back to work for another two months did not produce a flurry of outraged protests. As a matter of fact, when she had been almost killed the previous spring by the four stunners she took directly to her chest she had demanded to return to her duties almost immediately upon waking in St. Mungo's. It had only been at Albus's outright command that she not return coupled with the fact that despite her strong will and best efforts she could not manage to walk—that she had acquiesced. Still, she had returned to the school weeks before the healers had been comfortable releasing her as she was determined to be present for the end of term feast, and as Severus had wryly pointed out, to no doubt make sure that the points for the House Cup were fairly distributed and thereby fairly awarded. Again, Poppy found herself wondering what exactly Minerva had been through these past days to make her so compliant a patient.

"Min, I know you may not wish to talk about it, now if ever. But, should you ever feel the need to—you know I am here. And it may help you to heal, to discuss it with friends." She prayed that she would at least someday discuss it with Albus.

"Thank you, Poppy." Her words were sincere. She didn't know whether that day would ever come. She was unclear herself about so many things, but she knew she needed to sort it out, so that she could put it behind her and go on.

Poppy stood, feeling that Minerva might like to be alone for a while with her thoughts, and she needed to get the potions ready for later, when Minerva's lung would be regrown. She gestured to the papers and quill lying on the blanket next to her. "Minerva, you don't have to read those if you don't want to, Albus and I just thought it might be helpful for you to have something to do, to occupy your thoughts." To distract you, Poppy added silently in her mind.

Minerva knew that, and she was grateful for the distraction. She wanted desperately to reclaim some normalcy to her life, to not feel violated and exposed and broken. It would be a very long time before she reached that point, she knew, but each little step would pull her along closer to the goal. "No, I am glad to read them. It will give me something useful to do, rather than just lying here like a lump of nothing with everyone fussing over me."

Poppy smiled, knowing that this was her friend's way of telling her that it was okay for her to leave, that she would manage. Minerva hated being useless. Albus knew her so well, he had been right to make the suggestion. As she turned to go, Minerva's voice called out one last question, stopping her.

"By the way, Poppy, who has been covering my classes?"

"All the staff has taken a turn. Albus, of course has been teaching your sixth and seventh years. Filius, Severus, and Sirena have been handling the rest. Pomona has been filling in to cover your Head of House concerns."

Minerva nodded, and Poppy left her. She tugged the spectacles down to the end of her nose and began methodically going through the stack of essays.

She passed the morning this way, forcing herself to focus her concentration on the work of her students, and blocking her mind from opening the doors to her pain and worse; the memories lurking behind the pain. She received a series of well-wishers, popping in to let her know how glad they were to have her safely back. Filius and Pomona had come together, and several of the Order members. None stayed for any length of time, on Poppy's orders to not tire her out. She was genuinely grateful to see them, as she had truly believed she never would again. She felt a little self conscious however, at the bruises and cuts that no doubt registered in their minds above the nightdress and blankets that covered her, causing them to wonder about the state of the rest of her. She relayed this discomfort to Poppy, who then restricted her visitors to members of the Order of the Phoenix, who already had seen her looking much worse than she did now. She received a bouquet of flowers from Hagrid along with an inedible cake and a sweetly misspelled get-well note. She received a box of chocolates from the Weasley twins, their note swearing that the contents of the box were indeed _chocolate_, and nothing more.

Poppy brought her some tea and a soup bowl of broth and she obliged her friend by managing a few swallows of both. She was finishing the last essay when a nervous clearing of the throat alerted her and she looked up into the eyes of Harry Potter.

"I am sorry to disturb you, Professor, but I wondered if I might…"

"Sit down, Mr. Potter." She waved a hand a little more weakly than she would have liked at the garishly colorful armchair no doubt conjured by Albus at her bedside.

Harry moved slowly, taking the offered seat nervously, not knowing how to begin. He looked at her, still taken aback by her appearance, but sitting up the way she was, glasses perched on the end of her nose, she seemed a bit more like the Professor McGonagall he was used to seeing, and just as intimidating. The bruises were beginning to fade some from her cheek, the gash above her eyebrow scabbed over. Her long hair was still down and spilling over her shoulders to her waist, its blackness making her look ghostly pale as it contrasted with her skin. She was peering at him over her spectacles, however, in that familiar way that always took him off guard. And so he just sat there, silently, feeling stupid and clumsy the way he always did in her presence.

Minerva sensed the boy's unease, and felt it probably had much to do with her present appearance, she hadn't looked in a mirror lately, but she could guess that she looked a frightful mess. It seemed something was bothering him, and she removed her glasses, laying them on the bedside table and asked gently, "What's on your mind, Harry?"

The softness in her voice startled him. It was hard, the things he had to say. He was convinced she was going to be quite angry with him, and the gentleness in her voice would disappear ere long. But, she needed to know, he felt, and he needed to give her his apology, no matter if she forgave him or not. He cleared his throat once more, and plunged ahead. "Professor—" he hesitated just a moment longer, his brain searching for the appropriate words. "I came to tell you that I'm sorry about what happened, for what I did." The words sounded feeble and weak in his ears and he suddenly wished he could take them back and exchange them for something more articulate.

She looked at him, confused. "What you did?"

He nodded. "I feel terrible about it. I never would have—I swear, but Dumbledore—Professor Dumbledore—he said it was the only way, and I couldn't think of anything else to do—so I did, and I am sorry." The words tumbled out in a rush, and Harry found himself staring down at his hands folded in his lap, thumbs twitching nervously as he waited for her to answer. There was only silence, and when he braved a glance upward he found her gazing blankly at him, in obvious incomprehension of what he had said. He realized in his agitation to blurt out the apology and have done with it he must have been totally incoherent, and his stomach tightened as he began to try and say it all again.

Minerva continued to look at the boy. He was obviously upset about something, seeming to grow more anxious as the moments passed. What on earth had he done? He didn't often confide in her, and this rather obtuse confession he was attempting to make alarmed her. But if Albus had told him to do it—well then why did he feel the need to apologize? True, she and Albus often didn't see eye to eye in regards to proper student behavior and discipline, but he did outrank her after all, and in light of her absence would have presided over any rule breaking in her place. And Albus would never tell the students to do anything that would put them in danger. Harry was obviously making too much of something. She sought to put his mind at ease. "Mr. Potter, I have no idea what you are referring to, but if Al—Professor Dumbledore told you to do something you have no reason to apologize to me for carrying out his orders. He is, after all, the Headmaster." Harry didn't seem to be comforted, however. Was something broken, she wondered?

Harry felt his heart sink. Oh, god, he thought. She doesn't know. He thought surely Dumbledore would've told her and all he would have to do was apologize and hopefully be granted forgiveness after he explained it all to her. But she didn't know, apparently, and he didn't want to be the one to inform her.

She watched the color heat his face and the beads of sweat break across his forehead. What on earth was going on? She could tell he had more to say, and was having trouble figuring out how to say it. "Just begin, Harry." She said gently.

He took a deep breath. "It was me, Professor, I performed the Cruciatus Curse on you. It was me. And I'm sorry."

"What?" She asked, startled.

"I was there, Professor. At the Death Eater meeting. The Unforgivables, I did them. It was me."

"You? Harry, I don't understand. Draco—it was Draco Malfoy, and the others—" she could see their faces, Zeke Randall—he was her student years ago, a Ravenclaw. And Leblanc; him she didn't know. And Malfoy. Draco Malfoy—but Harry said…

"No, Professor. It wasn't Malfoy. It was me." He studied her, watched as the already nonexistent color impossibly paled a few more degrees in her face, pronouncing the discolorations marring her cheek even further.

"But I don't…_you_ Harry?" Her mind reeled and her stomach churned as what he was saying began to sink in.

"We used polyjuice, Professor. Lupin and I, we followed Malfoy and Lestrange to a portkey and used polyjuice and then Dumbledore and the others followed us…..Professor?" Harry broke off suddenly, as she looked at him, her expression veiled in disbelief, changing to anger and then alarm as it dawned on her what had happened.

Her hands groped for the sides of her bed, attempting to steady herself as the room turned dizzily around her. She took deep, slow breaths as Poppy had instructed and waited for the world to right itself. His words flew through her mind in circles…polyjuice…Death Eater….cruciatus…unforgivable…sorry….it was me…Dumbledore said it was the only way… Harry. Harry had been acting as Draco Malfoy, he had been there amidst those demons. He had performed two of the three unforgivable curses. He had been right there in front of Voldemort himself, his life in unspeakable danger. To save her. _To save her_. It was too much to take in.

"Professor?" Harry called out again, timidly. "Should I call Madame Pomfrey?" He could see her shaking, the violent tremors rocking the bed, the top half of the stacked parchments at her side spilling to the floor.

"Harry. That was you." She had tears streaming down her face now, and her voice came out as a whisper. "Oh, Merlin, Harry. I'm so sorry, lad. I am so very sorry."

Now it was Harry's turn to be confused. Did she understand anything he had said? He had cursed her with the Cruciatus, he had inflicted torture upon her. He had been acting as Draco Malfoy, and _she_ had just told _him_ that she was sorry. Her tears disconcerted him further; the only experience he had ever had with women crying was limited to his brief romance with Cho and Hermione's sporadic outbursts. He felt more at a loss than ever to see his normally stern Transfiguration teacher weeping before him.

"Oh Harry," she was saying, her voice still a soft, choked cry. "You should never have come there—what in the bloody hell was Albus thinking? You could have been killed. If Tom would have realized that you—that it was you, oh god." She was crying even harder now, her breath coming again in short, shallow spasms. She needed to regain control, but as hard as she might try, the realization of Harry's sacrifice and danger waved over her again, sucking her down. The things he had seen, had been forced to witness, to perform. Things no human, much less a child of sixteen should ever be witness to or involved in. She reached for his hand, and he gave it to her. Clasping it tightly between both of hers she clung to it, and her sobs gradually began to subside.

Harry sat there, his hand in hers feeling awkward and intrusive. This entire visit had taken such an unexpected turn that he didn't know what to say or do. She didn't seem to be angry with him anyway, though he thought that Lupin had been right to say he didn't envy Dumbledore when she found out that he had allowed her students to participate in the rescue mission. He felt he should speak up for Dumbledore, so that maybe she wouldn't be so hard on him. "Professor, we all knew it would be risky when we volunteered, and Professor Dumbledore didn't really want to let me come when I volunteered but Sna—we—convinced him that I was the best choice because of my occlumency training. We really wanted to have you back," he added sincerely.

She stared at him long and hard through blurred, teary eyes. "If anything ever happened to you, Harry," she began, "anything, the prophecy—the entire world as we know it is at stake. We must keep you safe at all costs, Harry. You are our only hope."

Harry blushed at her words, embarrassed but she continued on. "I don't mean to sound cold, Harry. You are not just a pawn in a complicated game of chess. You are very important to me—to Albus—to all of us, just as yourself. We—Albus and I, feel as though you are a son or a grandson that we never had. If we had been so blessed, I would have wished for one just like you." Her voice was thick with emotion as she spoke. "But you also are the chosen one." She cut him off as he tried to interrupt. "You are the chosen one, Harry. Like it or not, it is your destiny. And for your life to be endangered for mine—that would be such a waste, Harry, such a waste. I am expendable." She said this last sentence matter-of-factly in her usual no nonsense way.

"No, Professor. You're wrong." Harry said quietly. "You are not expendable. Dumbledore was at a complete loss without you. He wasn't himself at all. I don't think he would have lasted long without you." And then Harry came to the second reason for his visit, to fulfill the promise he had made to himself in Dumbledore's office that afternoon—only yesterday? How long ago it seemed to him. That she would know how much she was appreciated by him.

"Professor, I wanted to thank you. For everything you do for us, for the school, and your students and the Order. It occurred to me that I never really appreciated the sacrifices you make and all of the work you do to keep us safe, to educate us. After Sirius died, I realized…that well; we shouldn't take people who are important to us for granted. I have taken a lot of people in my life for granted, and I just wanted to say thanks."

She had fresh tears in her eyes when he stopped speaking and looked up at her again. She smiled at him, a warm, genuine smile, and pulled him towards her, embracing him tightly. She knew she was embarrassing him, but she didn't care. She truly loved this boy who was her student and her charge. And she meant it when she had wished that he were her own. She released him and he sat awkwardly back in the chair, his face pink. "Harry, it is my turn to thank you. It was a very brave and selfless thing you did for me, and I truly am grateful for it. You have proved yet again that you have the true soul of Gryffindor." Her words were emphatically genuine and kind. "And I must apologize to you, that you were subjected to that ugly scene and that you were induced to participate on my behalf."

Harry nodded slowly. "I am sorry that I had to curse you. But if I hadn't, I would have blown our cover."

She smiled at him again, a little sadly this time. "I wish you had never been placed in that position, Harry. But, as you were, I think you behaved very admirably." Harry rose, taking this last statement as a dismissal. As he began to pass through the curtain, her voice called after him, "I think fifty points shall be added to Gryffindor." This time it was he who smiled at her as he left, feeling that a large weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

When he was gone, Minerva sank wearily back against her pillows, and in so doing caused a ripple of fire to move over her tender back and the rest of the newly marked essays to topple to the floor, joining the others. She had forgotten about them in her distress at Harry's apologetic recount of her rescue. She should have asked him to pick them up for her before taking his leave. She was tired, exhausted really. Though the morning had been good for her: sitting upright, marking papers, having a bit of company; it had also sapped her of any energy and strength she might have gained. And she found her knowledge of Harry's role in the mission both touching and unsettling. Dreadful images flashed ceaselessly through her mind, of Voldemort discovering him and all the myriad horrific consequences that would have thereby ensued. He hadn't been discovered, thank heaven, and that offered no small comfort. But that comfort was ebbed away by the sorrow she felt at knowing yet another measure of his innocence had been lost. There was a reason the Cruciatus was unforgivable. She herself had never performed it, and she could only imagine the crushing weight that casting it on an innocent person would bear on the caster's soul. And the panic, the sheer and utter terror on Draco's—Harry's face—in his eyes, when he had been ordered to kill the child. He was so young, she thought. Too young. The boy had never had even the slightest semblance of a normal, happy childhood. She had wanted desperately to give him one. But Albus had insisted on leaving him with the Dursley's, and he had been right. The blood wards were the most solid protection the boy could have. She knew that. She had always known, even though she had been furious with Albus for his decision, she had known and reluctantly conceded he was right. But the decision, though the best, had left him in a home deprived of love and affection, and even the most minute kindness. His time at Hogwarts was happy, she knew, but it had been fraught with danger, and now his life had been imperiled once again, a possible price if the mission had failed. Too high, she thought. The price was too high.

As the emotions flowed though her, overwhelming her, relief and gratitude, guilt, shame, pride, and fear, she noticed distractedly once again the mess of parchment scattered across her bed and over the floor. She had no wand. Pressing the palms of her hands against the mattress she pushed herself up and painstakingly swung her legs in a pivot off the side of the bed. She dangled them there, momentarily, testing their strength against her weight. Very slowly and gingerly she rose to stand, hands gripping the armrest of the bedside chair for support as she swayed and her head spun. Tiny pricks of light swirled before her eyes, alternating with black empty spots, but as she stood the blood and pain seemed to settle and her vision cleared. Locking her elbow to keep her arm straight she used it as a crutch against the soft mattress and tentatively made her way around the perimeter of the bed to the other side where the parchments lay strewn at her feet. Ignoring the dizzy assault at her head and the roaring aches in her bones and muscles she dropped slowly into a crouch, and then to her knees. She bent forward shakily, reaching towards the nearest of the papers under the hospital bed, arm outstretched, the other holding to the side of the bed. She felt the rough surface beneath her fingertips even as her vision swam and she toppled forward her head striking the corner of the bed frame and then the floor.

She did not lose consciousness though everything was dark for a moment and then a hazy blur as she opened her eyes to see the dust motes resettling to the floor after the disturbance her fall had created. She tried in vain to pull herself up but found she could not, her strength played out. She could not even turn onto her side, and felt the treasured remaining lung struggling to expand under her weight. She called out to Poppy but her voice did not raise enough to be heard, it was faint to her own ears. _This is a fine mess you've gotten into_, she scolded herself silently. The floor was hard and cold beneath her, its coolness creeping in through the thin cotton of her gown and the sharp point of her quill was poking into her side where she had landed upon it. "Poppy!" she called out again, but the sound was muffled against the floor and she knew it would not be heard. _Damn_, she cursed again. There was nothing to do but lie here and wait until Poppy came to check on her. It wouldn't be long before someone happened in and she dreaded the earful that would come when they found her out of bed in this helpless position. Perhaps if she just rested a bit she'd be able to pull herself up and no one would be the wiser.

She heard footsteps approaching and felt both relief and dread as they grew louder in their closeness. How it was possible to be humiliated further after all that she had been put through was beyond her, and yet ironically enough she found that she could be. She was not accustomed to needing assistance from anyone, most certainly not for something as simple as standing. At least it was Poppy, who would lecture her soundly she was sure, but also wouldn't laugh at her or think of her the worse for her weakness. She heard a gasp from behind her and managed to turn her head up to face her helper. "Albus!" she cried out in surprise.

He bent towards her his arms gently grasping her forearms. "Minerva! What in Merlin's name!"

She felt a deep flush of embarrassment come over her. She had expected Poppy to find her, not Albus. Why it mattered to her that her husband had found her and not her friend and caregiver she was not sure, she just knew that she hadn't wanted him to see her in this state. She had planned her apology and conversation with him in her mind and it had involved her being stronger and more together, more dignified….not a weak invalid lying yet again in a heap on the ground.

"Minerva—what in…?" He stopped abruptly and gently released her, sadness washing over his face, clouding his eyes. "Poppy!" he called out, and then addressing her softly, "It's all right, Minerva, Poppy will be here in a moment." He backed away from her a few paces, his expression careful and guarded.

Minerva felt the finger pressing more deeply into her heart and the hurt in her stomach intensified. She looked at him, bewildered, as he kept his distance and his eyes averted. Poppy rushed in behind him, her cheeks pink from her haste. "Minerva! What happened?" she asked as she rolled her gently over onto her back and drew the rest of her body from beneath the bed. "Are you all right?" She was pressing a palm to Minerva's forehead and running a quick examination over her body with her practiced eyes.

Minerva felt the flush grow, and finally taking her eyes from Albus forced herself to answer calmly, "Yes, Poppy, I am quite fine, really. I dropped the papers I had marked and I thought I could manage to get them, but I must have overestimated. I'm sorry," she added sheepishly. She felt like a first year student being caught out of bed after hours.

"Your sure nothing hurts? Did you hit anything when you fell?" Poppy was asking in a gentle, clinical voice.

"I struck my head on the way down. But it's nothing, really. I am fine. Just a little tired yet." Poppy seemed to take her at her word and carefully helped her into a standing position and then back into bed. She glanced again at Albus who seemed to be intently studying the scattered parchments littering the floor. The all to familiar burning of tears was assaulting her eyes and with every ounce of resolve left she quelled them. The look that had passed over his features had been brief, but it had been there. She had seen it. Was he so repulsed by her that he couldn't bear to touch her long enough to help her off the floor?

"Minerva, I want you to drink this." She produced a bottle and spoon from her apron pocket and was unscrewing the cap.

"What is it?" she asked distractedly. She was still trying to catch Albus's eye, but they were looking decidedly everywhere but at her.

"This is a sleeping draught. It will take immediate effect, and then we are going to go about getting you another lung, since you seem bent on taxing the sole one you have to its limit."

"I don't want to take a sleeping draught, Poppy. I don't want to sleep—is that necessary? It isn't for skelegrow. Is it not some similar technique?" She wanted—she needed to talk to Albus.

"Yes, it is quite necessary. You are exhausted, and I need to regrow your lung, and I need you to be perfectly still during that process." Poppy was pouring a measured amount into the spoon.

"I don't want to sleep. I can be still. I shall be very still, really. I don't need a potion." She needed to talk to her husband, and she certainly did not want to sleep. She quite possibly did not want to sleep ever again. She was free of Tom Riddle in her waking hours, she could force him from her mind; keep him in his place. In her dreams he visited her, and in her dreams he had control. She shuddered visibly.

"Minerva," Poppy said sternly, "you need to rest. Your body is exhausted. It is going to be many weeks before you are properly healed, despite what your mind may tell you. You have just proven that. Your decision to pick up fallen parchment on the floor—a perfectly normal task—has resulted in a fall from which you were to weak to get up from. You must rest, love," she said more gently.

"Please, Poppy. Please…." And she could not keep the tear from her voice this time. "Please, I can't sleep. He comes when I sleep." It was a whisper. A plea of desperation that tore at Poppy's heart, this irrational fear that he could still touch her, still hurt her when she slept. In the corner of her eye Poppy could see Albus turn away, making his face not visible to them.

She almost conceded, but the healer in her told her she could not. Minerva needed sleep. And for the procedure being performed to be safe she needed her to be absolutely still, she could not risk any movement. She held the spoon out with one hand and cupped the other gently behind her friend's head. "Min, it is okay. Everything is okay. This is a dreamless draught; he cannot touch you in your sleep this time. Just relax; you will wake in a few hours, with lungs as good as new. And then, you can go back to your own room." This last she added hopefully, a bargain chip to gain cooperation.

Minerva's eyes darted back and forth from Poppy to Albus and back again. Albus had his back to her, his hands clenched behind his back. Poppy had the spoon of medicine held out inches from her lips, her hand supporting her head from off the pillow to take it. "Albus?" she asked rather shakily.

His hands loosened their grip and fell to his sides, as he turned back to face her, his face unreadable again, but his expression softened. He smiled at her, though it did not meet his eyes. "Yes, love, take the potion. We'll be right here, until you wake. We'll see you through it."

"Very well." And Minerva opened her mouth obediently, and swallowed the potion down.

a/n: I feel that this chapter may be more than a little out of character for both Minerva and Harry. However, I was indulging myself, because it is a scene I really, really, really wanted to happen....so I couldn't help it. Also, please don't be angry at poor Albus (or me either) he is not being a jerk or unfeeling I swear. I will be following up very shortly with his thoughts in the next chapter, I just really needed to get this one finished and posted. Two more chapters and this story will be done. Thanks so so much for reading and reviewing, it means a lot! And thanks ever so much for allowing me to indulge myself and all my little fantasies!


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Albus watched his wife's eyes close as the potion finally won the battle for sleep she had been fighting against. Only then, when he was sure that she was sleeping deeply did he take her hand in his. With his other hand he gently brushed stray tendrils of her dark hair from her face, leaning in and placing a chaste, tender kiss on her forehead. He was deeply troubled by her earlier displays of fear and desperation, the cause of them troubling in itself; but the fact that he seemed to be adding to her distress and terror broke his heart.

The look on her face when she had woken for the first time after Brian had been taken from her—that look of apprehension and distrust that he might not be Albus after all: that he might indeed be some hallucination conjured by Tom Riddle to torment her into believing she was safe only to disappear, or become someone else, or worse; inflict suffering upon her in the guise of himself. And later, when she had realized she had been uncovered, that he had seen her exposed, the evidence of her suffering laid open before him; the shame and panic that had moved her to hysterics was beyond what he could bear. He had seldom seen Minerva even _near_ hysterics in the sixty-odd years he had known her. The closest she had ever come was when he had allowed Harry to participate in the Tri Wizard Tournament two years earlier and first Voldemort, and then Barty Crouch, jr. had nearly killed him.

When he had found her on the floor after her fall, he had instinctively reached to help her—another mistake, he chastised himself. The moment his hands had touched her the look on her face; the blush of embarrassment, her eyes widened in fear. Albus Dumbledore was at a loss, a predicament he rarely found himself in. His wife was hurting, wounded both physically and emotionally in the deepest possible ways, and he didn't know how to help her.

He had understood what Severus had meant when he had told him that morning in his office about Minerva's emotional break down that awful night that Lucius Malfoy had sought his revenge upon her. How she had seemed so frail and breakable and how deeply disturbing it was to witness the strong and unbreakable Minerva McGonagall in that state. Albus had understood it, even then, having been perhaps the only other person alive ever to have seen Minerva with her defenses fully down before. He had oft times been the one to hold his marble-goddess of a wife when life and it's participants had dealt a cruel hand and crushed some corner of her soul into a powdery dust. He knew that many more times he had not been there, and she had swept the dust away on her own, always striving to maintain that brave façade, that calm and assured manner she was so famous for. It was a mask she wore always, even for him, though she knew perfectly well that he could see right through it.

And so he had understood. But moments ago, mere moments ago—when she had told Poppy why she didn't want to sleep, the fear and helplessness in her voice was the most desperate he had ever heard it. "_He comes in my sleep,_" she had said. Just one simple sentence. But in those five small words, she had spoken volumes. The utter terror in her voice, the tremble in her body, the sharpness of pain in her eyes had hit him with the force of a twenty-ton dragon. The horror of all she had not spoken, of all she felt and feared had hung heavy in the air around her, and he knew that Tom Riddle indeed was there, invisible to the eye, but lurking nonetheless in Minerva's mind. The panic and hysteria cut through him and he felt more anger and hatred rage up within him than he would ever have believed possible. And the deepest sadness squeezing his heart, guilt and shame and a desperate desire to take her in his arms and hold her so tightly that the outside world would disappear and she would feel safe and comforted. And that desire fed the hate; Tom Riddle had succeeded in doing what nothing else had ever done: he had built a wall between them. In fifty years there had been no barriers between him and his wife. And now when she needed him most, she was terrified of him, of his touch, of his love. "Min, tell me how to help you," he pleaded quietly.

_Minerva shivered in the cold night air. Before her she saw the open door, creaking on its hinges in the breeze, the gray stonewall covered in vines, the steps leading downward into the tunnel. She didn't want to enter the tunnel. She didn't want to follow the labyrinth of passageways under the heavy, damp earth. But she must. Something inside of it compelled her onward, as it always did, and she shook off the cold of the night and took the first step forward. What was it she was looking for this time? What was missing that she was supposed to find?_

_Damn Tom and his cruel, malicious games. Hadn't he hurt her enough? And damn her as well, while she was at it. Why did her body insist on living? Anyone else would have just given up and died already. The trouble with the games was that they were __**not**__ games. They were carefully thought out punishments and instead of meting them out he strung her along, stretched her on a rack until just before she snapped apart inside. Then he released her, so that he could stretch her again. _

_She descended the smooth steps slowly, and when she reached the bottom she heard the heavy wooden door swing close behind her, a lock clicking into place, shutting out all light. She waited in the blackness, as she had before. Torches began to light on the moss-covered walls, providing a dim glow down the corridor ahead. She walked forward, waiting. She heard crying, faintly echoing off the walls, bouncing around the narrow hallway and off of the closed doors to the rooms she passed. Her steps quickened. Brian. The little muggle child. She recognized his cry, and she had to find him._

_She tried the handles on the doors; locked. All locked. She pushed against them, but they didn't open. She stood on her tiptoes and tried to peer into the dirty glass windows into the dark rooms. She could see nothing. The cries turned to wails, growing louder and louder and she began to run._

Albus looked up when Poppy entered the room, followed closely by Severus. He did not let go of Minerva's hand, he may only have these few hours to hold it before she woke again and her fear forced him to keep his distance. Poppy carried a heavy book in her arms, _Magical Procedures and Spells, Vital Organs, Volume VI. _Severus was holding a vial in his hand, its contents still steaming from the cauldron fire.

"We're ready to begin, Albus. How is she resting?" Poppy asked, setting the book on a stand and opening it to a pre-marked page. She turned and took the potion from Severus.

"She seems to be resting peacefully."

"Poor dear, she is utterly worn out," Poppy muttered as she carefully parted Minerva's lips, lifted her head from the pillow and poured the contents of the vial slowly down her throat. When the last drop was gone she gently lowered Minerva's head and stood smiling. "When this is finished, she should have a much easier time of it."

Albus nodded slightly and returned to studying his wife's face. He couldn't help but think how unalive it seemed, how pale and hollow and corpse-like. He almost wished Poppy would have conceded to let her remain awake during the procedure. He dropped her hand for a moment and pulled the blanket further up until the silky hem of it touched her neck.

Poppy and Severus stood silently watching him. He seemed only vaguely aware of their presence, as if they were portraits on the wall. Poppy wondered when it was he had eaten last. "Albus?" she asked gently, "when was it you last ate? Could I get you something? Tea, perhaps? Something from the kitchen?"

He shook his head and sank wearily back into the chair at Minerva's bedside. "No, Poppy, but I wondered if I might talk with you awhile." His voice rose at the end, making it a question, and though he sounded casual she could sense real need behind it.

"Of course, Albus. You know I am always available." She drew her wand and produced two chairs on the other side of the bed, facing him. She sat in the one nearest Minerva but Severus declined.

"I believe I shall retire to my office, my marking is woefully behind." He felt that what ever the Headmaster had to discuss with the nurse was private, and didn't need to include him. "Call me if there are any ill effects with the potion," he said as he swept from the curtained room.

_Minerva heard the child scream in terror and ran faster, her feet sliding now and again on the slippery stone floor. She stopped at each door, frantically trying the handles. Finally, she came to an open door, the room beyond dark and damp and empty. Empty except for a small, wailing child. She rushed to him and knelt at his side. He was sitting with his face buried in his knees, his pumpkin costume grimy and torn. He was shackled to the wall behind him, a rusty ring clamped around his little ankle. She tried to slide the ring over his foot, but it was too tightly clamped. Where was her wand? If she only had a wand…She heard a tinkle of metal against metal above her, like a wind chime in an open window. She looked up and saw a ring of keys. Quickly she stood and snatched them down, though she knew it was too easy. Much too easy. She bent and placed the first key in the eye of the lock on the wall and turned it. It released immediately and the chain clanged noisily against the floor, the other end still attached to Brian's leg. He fell against her and she scooped his small body up into her arms, holding him tightly. The door to the hallway shut behind her in a loud bang, and she swung round, the child pressed closely to her. She saw what had frightened him, causing his screams: Naigini. The snake was inching toward them slowly, it's red eyes glowing in the darkness, mouth open, ready to lunge forward and strike._

_She looked for another way out of the room, but saw none. She knew the door she had entered would be locked, and the snake lay between it and them. She put the child down behind her, his body between her and the wall. She stood with her legs spread slightly, so that Brian was completely blocked from sight behind the skirt of her robes. She could feel him shaking behind her, but she stood still, eyes slightly averted to avoid the hypnotizing gaze slinking ever closer. There was nothing to use as a weapon that she could see. And so she waited for the end._

Albus sat back against the high back of the chair and arranged his thoughts. Poppy waited patiently for him to begin, only taking her wand now and then to assess Minerva's vitals. So far, the procedure seemed to be going according to the textbook. Twice, Minerva's pulse had jumped, but had retuned to normal on its own. There was nothing mentioned about that in the spell book, but Poppy presumed it might be normal; after all organ regrowth was a traumatic thing for the body, especially one as weak and battered as Minerva's currently was. A mended lung was sure to make a big difference in her recovery, however, and Poppy was anxious for the entire process to be over. She only hoped the rest of her system would accept it, and that Poppy would be able to keep her promise to allow her friend to return to her own private quarters.

Albus still hadn't spoken. Poppy knew not to rush him as he continued to study his wife's sleeping body, alternating his glances between her face and the subtle rise and fall of her chest beneath the blanket. She was beginning to wonder if she had been forgotten when he turned to her.

"She is afraid of me, Poppy." He said simply.

"Albus—"

"No, she is." He cut her off, before she could disagree. "I can see it in her eyes, and when I touch her…" he trailed off. "Why? Why would she be frightened of me? I have never hurt her."

Poppy sighed. She was sure Minerva probably was frightened of him, probably Severus as well. After what she had been through, she was probably uncomfortable near any man. "Albus," she began quietly, "Minerva's reaction to you—or any man, for that matter, is a defense mechanism. It is instinctive, and though it may be irrational, it is probably beyond her control. That is very common with victims of rape."

"I know it is." He looked at his wife helplessly. "But, how do we get beyond that? What can I do to help her? I can't just sit idly by and abandon her; neither do I wish to cause her distress. For once in my life, I have not a clue how to proceed."

"You must be patient with her, Albus. She has only been back barely two days. We don't know the full extent of her torture—we may never know. But from what we can deduce from the physical evidence, well, I just can't imagine. And Minerva is so proud, this has to be much harder on her than it would be on another."

"Another wouldn't have survived." Albus said softly, his throat constricting around the words.

"Exactly. She is strong, Albus. But not invincible, though that is sometimes easy to forget. You must give her time, and a lot of understanding."

He nodded; he could give her all the time and understanding in the world. He _would_ give it to her. He looked at Poppy, his blue eyes fixing their gaze into hers. "Do you think she will trust me again?"

Poppy felt her heart drop, the pain in his voice and the hollowness of his eyes cut through her. She wanted to reach out to him, to them both and wave a simple spell to heal everything, to make all the evil go away. But there was no such spell. "Albus, Minerva loves you. It isn't you she doesn't trust; it is herself. She has all of these conflicting emotions inside her right now." She gave him a small, sympathetic smile. "You love her. The two of you will get through this, I am certain."

_The end didn't come. Naigini stopped just before he reached her, and a door opened behind her. Tom Riddle entered the room. "I see you've found the muggle-brat."_

_At the sight of him, Brian increased his grip on her skirt, almost knocking her off balance as he pressed himself even closer to the back of her knees. She steadied herself, and reached one hand behind her, stroking the top of the little boy's head._

_"Why don't you hand him over to me, love" He reached for him. "We have some playmates for him in the next room." _

_She moved forward protectively, and Tom seized her by the arm, jerking her forward. Brian toppled into her, never letting go. Naigini hissed menacingly. "Give him to me, Minerva. Or we can leave him here. Naigini could do with a snack." He wrenched her away from the whimpering toddler. "Go on my pet, enjoy." The snake sped forward._

_"No!"_

_Riddle raised his hand and Naigini stopped, her red eyes glowering hungrily at the child. "Give him to me."_

_She held out her hand and the boy took it. She transferred the struggling child to Tom, who took him with a look of disgust. "Tom, please don't hurt him." _

_"Nonsense, love. There is no need to hurt the brat. You shall see." He turned and exited the room. Minerva followed._

_The door led to a large room, brightly lit, and Minerva blinked against the light, her eyes adjusting. Two other children were playing quietly and Tom deposited Brian down amongst them. The little girl with blonde curls was singing softly to a doll, her pink dress and matching ribbon was clean and pressed. Next to her was another child, a boy she had never seen before. He had a stack of wooden blocks, and was arranging them to form a tower._

_She looked at Tom, her heart filled with dread. What did he want with these three children? It could be nothing good. Naigini slithered quietly in behind them._

_"Well, Minerva, as I said there is no need to hurt the child—or the other two. It is up to you to decide." His voice had a forced cheeriness, but a cold malice seeped through and chilled her._

_"Decide? Decide what?"_

_"Which of them not to hurt." He smiled. "One of them may live. You decide which."_

_The air left her. She looked at him blankly. _

_"You must decide quickly, my dear. I am not feeling very patient this morning."_

_"Tom, no. I can't. I can't choose a child."_

_"You can't? Are you sure?" He gave a bored glance to the three toddlers at his feet._

_She found it difficult to breathe. She felt a fear inside her that made coherent thought impossible, and a cold hatred for the man before her so powerful that she wondered whether she could kill him with her bare hands. How could she choose? One life over another? She couldn't. "I can't." The tear-choked words were barely audible._

_"What a pity. Then all three must die, I'm afraid." He raised his wand and in rapid succession muttered the killing curse three times. The three children froze in their play, falling backwards unfeeling to the floor._

_Minerva felt her knees buckle beneath her and she dropped forward. Her breath was gone, hot angry tears poured from her eyes and she retched again and again. Tom waited for her to finish. He handed her a handkerchief. "Wipe your mouth, love." She glared at him and swiped her mouth with the sleeve of her cloak. The hatred pouring from her eyes amused him. "What a waste, Minerva. You could have saved one of them. But all three had to die. What a waste," he said again. He gripped her upper arm and lifted her off the floor. She flew at him, her fists pounding against him, and he laughed. He flung her off of him with little effort, sending her crashing against the hard wall. "Come, love. There are others awaiting you to ascribe their fate." He beckoned her forward and she slowly rose from the ground, her vision blurred and shaky from the tears and anger. He took her hand and led her from the room. "Don't worry, Naigini will clean up the mess."_

"Isn't there anything I can do in the mean time?" Albus could be patient. But he wanted to _help_ Minerva. He needed action, something he could do.

"Yes. What you've been doing. Make yourself available to her. Your very presence will help in time, as she grows used to you again. Talk to her, but don't press her. Keep your distance physically; let her make the first moves. It may take a week, it may take three, it may be months or years. There is no way to tell, really. But she will come back to you, Albus, I'm sure of it. She needs to regain some normalcy in her life. The more things get back to normal, the more comfortable she will become."

"I just want my wife, Poppy. That's all." If he was never able to touch her again, he was fine with that. He just wanted her pain and distrust to vanish. He wanted her to feel safe with him again, to not feel this fear of him. The fear hurt him. More deeply than any words or actions ever could.

"I know, love." Poppy said gently. "She's still in there, Albus, and we just have to be patient with her until she is able to come out."

Poppy's wand began to glow. It was a warning that Minerva's vital signs were dangerously high. Poppy jumped from her seat and checked Minerva's pulse. Too high. It was too high. Albus rose also, looking at her in alarm.

Minerva was saying something in her sleep. Albus bent his head so that his ear was next to her mouth. "I can't…" she was saying, her faint voice full of sorrow. The wand began to glow brighter, and Poppy produced a tube of clear liquid from the drawer in the bedside table and drew a stopper full into a syringe. She shot the medicine into Minerva's mouth and she moaned, but her pulse returned to normal, the wand returning to its natural color.

"She's dreaming, Poppy." Albus was pacing the room in quick steps, as Poppy held her finger to her friend's wrist, monitoring the slowing beats.

"She can't be, Albus—I gave her a dreamless sleeping draught."

"She's having a nightmare." They both looked at Minerva, her expression one of distress even as she slept.

"Her pulse has returned to normal, and her blood pressure as well."

"How can she be dreaming? She took the entire potion." Albus was still pacing furiously, the words Minerva had spoken hammering into his mind, _he comes when I sleep. _Albus knew that fear was absurd on his part. Tom Riddle could not physically enter Hogwarts; Albus himself had sole control over the wards protecting the castle. And he was too far away to cast a successful legilimens upon Minerva, the distance only worked between Voldemort and Harry because of the connection with Harry's scar. But how was it that Minerva could be tortured by him with nightmares while under the power of a dreamless sleeping draught?

"I'm not sure," Poppy was saying. "I think Minerva's mind has been conditioned by the torture, so that as soon as she falls asleep, the false memories begin, or the replay of nightmares that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named forced her to have under legilimens. A mind as disciplined as Minerva's could easily be conditioned to specific responses under stimulus."

He nodded. "Yes, that makes sense. Minerva has always possessed a remarkable inner clock of sorts, she wakes automatically at the same time everyday, she grows hungry at the same times—she is a very scheduled person. It would stand to reason that her mind would automatically dream out of habit." He stopped his pacing. "Damn Tom Riddle!" he swore, knowing how much pleasure the bastard would get if he knew about this little quirk in Minerva's system, how it could extend her torture beyond what he even intended.

Minerva jerked. Her hand flew upward, and she was muttering something unintelligible again. Poppy and Albus both took hold of a side of her, restraining her movements as gently as possible. "We can't have her thrashing about like this, Albus. We'll have to wake her."

_She followed Tom in silence trying not to think of what was happening in the room she had left behind her. "You could have saved one of them, but all three had to die." She heard it over and over in her mind, though Tom had not spoken since leading her from the room. His fingers were tight around hers; the frigid coldness of them sent icy pains up her arm. They walked through the corridor that seemed to grow ever longer, spiders and other crawly things scuttering out of their way into the shadows. The tunnel grew steep, and they climbed upward. She could see daylight shining through an opening up ahead. The sunlight did not warm her, however, or bring any sense of hope. Her doom only increased as she realized they were coming to the end of their journey. She did not want to know who the 'others' were. The others Tom had said were waiting for her to 'ascribe their fate'._

Poppy shook Minerva very gently, calling her name. "Minerva, wake up. Wake up love, it's Poppy." Minerva stirred, but it was not from being called out of her sleep. Something was happening in the dream, and it wasn't pleasant. Albus tried also, to no avail.

He took out his wand, pointing the tip close to her forehead. "Rennervate!" he commanded. But she did not rouse.

"Albus—call for Severus. Ask him to bring an antidote to the sleeping draught." Albus headed quickly to the fireplace in Poppy's office.

Poppy's wand began to glow again, as Minerva's vital signs once again rose to dangerous levels. She gave her friend another dose of medicine and the wand gradually returned to normal, but it was slower this time. Poppy knew she couldn't keep pumping her full of potion—she would overdose her. They had to wake her. Whatever was playing in Minerva's mind was dangerously playing with her already fragile health.

"Rennervate," she tried the spell again, with no response.

Albus returned, resuming his duty to try and keep Minerva still. "Why can't we wake her?" he asked.

"I'm not sure." Poppy hesitated, thinking. "I think it is a combination of the legilimens-torture coupled with the sleeping draught. She is too deeply immersed for the spell to have any effect."

Severus burst into the room, proffering a red bottle in his hand. Poppy snatched it from him and twisted off the top, not bothering to measure out a dose. Minerva was crying in her sleep now, the wand at Poppy's side buzzing dangerously, it's color bright blue.

_"Look love," Tom said as they emerged from the tunnel and into the bright day. "I have a wonderful surprise for you. Two people you have sorely missed these last days."_

_They were in a meadow. The lush grass was high and green, surrounded on three sides by thick forest. The stone dais stood before them, and standing upon it was Harry Potter, and, next to him, Albus Dumbledore. Harry was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, squinting against the sun beneath his round glasses. Albus stood tall next to him in purple robes with silver moons, his white beard tied into a point at the bottom with a matching purple cord. They did not appear to be harmed, but Harry looked frightened and there was no light in Albus's eyes._

_Minerva stood frozen, staring ahead in disbelief. "Come, Minerva, don't you want to say hello?" Tom turned to her, a wide smile lighting his twisted face as he took in her horrified expression. "Minerva, darling, say hello to our guests, we don't want to be impolite, do we?"_

_Still she stood, eyes locked on the two men held prisoner before her. The two people she loved most in all the world. He had her now. He truly had her, and he knew it. "Is something wrong, love?" he asked innocently. He waved his hand for her to join him, and her feet began to move against her will._

_"Why, Minerva, you are crying." He reached his hand and stroked her cheek, her tears wetting his fingers. "There is no need for tears. You needn't lose both of them. Only one. And the power is all yours, love, you need only make your choice." _

_All the warmth had left her body. She felt cold, as if there were ice water instead of blood coursing through her veins. And hollow, she was so painfully empty inside, as if her heart had been grabbed from her chest cavity while still beating, leaving her body aching for the missing organ. _

_"Please, Tom. I am begging you." Her words sounded flat and heavy, and she forced them out with great effort. He continued to smile at her, enjoying her pain, his skin still cold against her face. She grabbed his hand desperately, but did not pull it away. She was pleading with him, the agony inside her making it hard to speak. "Please, Tom. Please. Don't make me choose. Please…don't do this."_

_"Minerva," he said patiently. "You must choose. How is it that you learn so slowly? If you do not make a choice, then I will kill them both. Is that what you want?"_

_"No." she whimpered. _

_"I am being uncharacteristically kind, love. For your sake, I am allowing one of them to live. Now, which shall it be? Will you choose the greatest wizard of our age? Your husband, the love of your life? He is the only one who can protect you from me, you know. The only one who can save you. Think of all the good he has done, all of the lives he has touched. A worthy choice to be sure._

_"On the other hand," he pointed in Harry's direction. "You have the boy who lived. The son you never had. He is young, Minerva. Only sixteen. Just a child." He paused. "You know the prophecy, Minerva. The entire world as we know it rides on his shoulders. The balance of good and evil, as it were. He is the only one who can ultimately defeat me in the end. Who will it be?"_

_"Tom, please…don't do this to me." The urgency in her voice was overwhelming, though the sounds came out barely a whisper._

_"I'm not doing anything to you, Minerva. It is you who holds their fate. It is you who must make the choice. Good or bad, it rests with you." His smile faded, and he gave her a hard, cold look. "Of course, if you do not wish to make a choice, you know the consequences."_

_She sank down to her knees, as a woman kneels in prayer. She did know the prophecy. _

_"Make your choice, Minerva!" he shouted at her, his patience gone. "Who will live?"_

_"Forgive me Albus," she whispered. She looked up at Tom Riddle. "Harry. I choose Harry."_

"It isn't working!" Poppy shouted. She kept administering the antidote, but Minerva did not wake. The wand stiffened once as Minerva's pulse and pressure spiked an all time high. And then she began spiraling downward.

"Can we stop the procedure?" Severus asked, alarmed as he watched Minerva's pulse dip, her respirations slowing.

"We could, but I don't think it has anything to do with her decline. It's the nightmare. I can't explain it, but it's the dream—we have to wake her up!"

Albus had hold of her face in his hands. "Wake up, Min!" he was crying desperately. "For love of Merlin, please wake up."

"Albus—you have to go into her mind." Poppy felt relieved when the idea came to her. It was simple. Albus was a legilimens. He could go in and get her, pull her from sleep.

"What?" Severus and Albus whirled to face her, speaking simultaneously.

"It will work. Albus, you must cast legilimens and get inside her mind. You can manipulate the dream, make her reassured, bring her out of it."

"I can't Poppy! She feels violated enough as it is without my going—"

She cut him off. Minerva was declining at a rapid pace. "It is either you or Severus. There isn't time. One of you must do it. I would do it myself, but I am only trained in occlumency. Albus, you are her husband. It should be you."

"Poppy—you know how Minerva feels about legilimens—"

"Albus! She is dying!"

Albus bolted upright. "Dying?"

Poppy nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. "There isn't time. You must do it. Now."

"Very well. Legilimens!"

_Tom was laughing, a deep, victorious laugh. He flicked his wand in Harry's direction and the chains fell away from his hands and feet. Minerva crawled to Albus's body, lying in a heap before the stonewall of the platform. She couldn't run to him. She had no strength left. She was dying, and she was glad of it._

_When she reached him she gathered his head into her lap, bending to lay her head across his chest. Her hair covered his face, her tears bathing him, and she felt the life draining out of her. "I'm sorry, Albus," she sobbed into him. "I am so sorry." She had chosen what was ultimately best for the wizarding world, but without the man in her arms, she had no desire to go on. No reason, no will. She would die right here, with him._

_**Albus saw her, hunched over his body at the foot of the dais used in the ceremony the night of her rescue. Her pain became his pain, and he saw Tom Riddle laughing and Harry crying, and the entire dream flooded his mind from hers. The corridor, the dead children. The decisions she had been forced to make.**_

_**There were other things: he could feel the cruciatus burning through his nervous system, as she was hit over and over. He could feel the defiance as she refused to cry out and then when she could not keep from it, the satisfaction of not giving him what he wanted—not speaking his name.**_

_**He could see from the window of her eyes the predatory look on Lucius Malfoy's face as he approached her, a cropped leather whip in hand, he could feel the sting as it struck her back and sliced through her skin.**_

_**He felt her shame as Crabbe circled her lying on the floor of the Riddle ballroom, and her struggle to keep silent. The relief mingled with humiliation as Severus lifted her off the floor and held her as she sobbed into his shoulder.**_

_**And he felt relief now. Relief that she was dying, and would soon escape the pain that her last decision had caused her. "I'll be with you soon, love," he heard her whispering into his ear, his head covered by her dark hair and the wide sleeves of her robe.**_

_**"Minerva!" he called out to her. She looked up at him startled, confused. She held him in her arms, and yet he was standing a few feet away, slowly coming towards her, looking very much alive.**_

_**He reached her, and the Albus in her arms disappeared. "Minerva, it's all right, love. I am here. This is all a dream. Only a dream."**_

_**"A dream?"**_

_**"Yes, darling, a dream. Look around, Tom is gone."**_

_**He was. Tom was gone, Harry was gone. It was just she and Albus, alone in a field. "Where's Harry?" she asked him, still not sure what was happening.**_

_**"Harry is fine, love. He was never really here. Brian is fine as well. You are having a nightmare, and I need you to wake up."**_

_**"Albus?"**_

_**He pulled her into his embrace. "I am here, Minerva. You are safe now. You are back home at Hogwarts. Poppy has given you a potion to regenerate your lung. I am there, and Severus is there. You started dreaming, love, and we couldn't wake you. You started to decline, because of the dream. I had to use legilimens to come and find you. I'm sorry."**_

_**"Are you certain it's a dream?" she asked, her voice muffled against his chest. He nodded, his hand running lightly over her hair. "Oh, Albus! Tom killed those children. He took me here, and he made me choose—you or Harry…I had to choose Harry—the prophecy, but—"…she was crying into his shoulder, and Albus felt relief wash over him. At least here, while he was in control of the direction of her thoughts, he could hold her. She wasn't afraid—of him, anyway.**_

_**"Minerva, Tom Riddle isn't really here. It was just a nightmare. Do you think you can wake up?"**_

_**"I don't know," she whispered truthfully. "I am afraid for you to leave me. He may return with you gone."**_

_**"No, Min. He isn't here. You are back at Hogwarts, safe. Do not worry about Tom Riddle for the moment. Come back to me, Min."**_

_**"I'll try."**_

__And Albus left her. Poppy looked hopeful. "Everything seems to be returning to normal, Albus. And the lung is progressing just fine."

Albus sank into the chair, his mind tired from the exercise. He was shaking, tears rolling down his face.

"Headmaster?" Severus was concerned.

"Just give me a moment. I didn't just see the dream. I saw…other things…as well." He dropped his head into his hands.

"Oh Albus, I am sorry." Poppy said gently. "How much did you see?"

"Not everything. Just what was under the surface of her thoughts at the time. But it was enough."

Minerva began to stir. "Minerva, wake up, love." Poppy held her hand in both of hers.

Albus rose abruptly. Poppy shot him a concerned look, her eyebrows raised in question. "I have to pull myself together. She can't see me like this."

"Very well, Albus. Go, take some time. And Albus," she called after him as he exited the room, "eat something, for Merlin's sake!"

Minerva opened her eyes. Poppy was smiling down at her, Severus looking pale but less sour than usual beside her.

"Poppy?" She moved to turn, but Poppy's hands flew down, stopping her.

"Lie very still, Min. Very still. Your lung isn't finished quite yet."

"Where's Albus?" she asked tentatively, her eyes searching for him.

"You gave us a bit of a fright. We sent him out of the room to recover."

"Oh." She imagined she had. She wondered what all he had seen in her mind. "Poppy, I don't have to take another sleeping potion, do I?"

"No. No, you just lie still. The regeneration is almost finished, and then if all is well, you can go back to your own bed, in your own quarters."

With Albus, Minerva thought.


	24. Chapter 24: Healing

Well, this is it--the last chapter. There will be a short epilogue following in a few days to wrap everything up. There is MAJOR fluff at the end of this chapter, but I think Albus and Minerva deserve it after all the hell I've put them through. Thanks very, very much for sticking with this story and all of the lovely reviews. Thanks awfully to Sylva for answering my questions throughout, and to my friends at work Geri, and Webbgirl for listening to me rattle on and on about the plotline. Hope you all like the ending!

Chapter 24: Healing

Albus paced furiously in his study, dark save for the light of the fire in the grate. He was trying to get his thoughts in order; his emotions under control. He was no help to Minerva like this. But there was nothing for it. After all, he was only a man, and he knew that the anger must be dealt with, privately and quietly, as any show of it on his part seemed to further frighten Minerva, sending her deeper into the recesses of terror and depression.

He had thought he had been angry the night he had discovered her gone. Even more so when he had received the message Voldemort had sent him regarding her rape and subsequent torture with the Cruciatus Curse. He _had_ been angry then, he had destroyed most everything in his office. There had been a powerful rage inside him when Severus had made his report about her visit with Lucius Malfoy, and then seeing her—watching her beaten and broken, choking on her pride and offering herself publicly to Tom Riddle the night he had rescued her.

No. Not rescued, he thought. Brought her back. "Rescue" implied saving, and in that saving a comfort; a safety. Albus wasn't sure that he had saved her at all; indeed, he prayed he had reached her in time. In his heart, he feared he hadn't. He had failed her. He knew that Minerva had concocted this entire infernal scheme alone—had carried it out alone, of her own volition. But he had failed her even then, if he had had a plan of his own to save the students—if he hadn't left her to go to the meeting with the Ministry, if he had been there. If.

If all those years ago when the pretty Seventh year student had nervously confessed that she loved him he had said to hell with propriety and instead of rejecting her had been true to his heart and affirmed his love for her she would never have gotten involved with Tom Riddle in the first place.

If he weren't Albus Dumbledore, famed wizard that he was, perhaps his wife wouldn't be a target at all—if he were an ordinary man. _Ifs_. "_Too many bloody ifs_!" he shouted, causing the sleeping portraits to wake with a start. Sinking down into his favorite armchair he laid his head in his hands. He hadn't thought he could be angrier than when he had watched Poppy make her initial assessment of Minerva. He thought nothing could top the rage that had coursed through him at the sight of her—the sight of her wounds laughing up at him. But all of that paled in comparison now that he had _seen_ and _felt_ her tortures first hand.

His fist unconsciously came down hard on his chess table, scattering the disgruntled pieces to the floor as the visions flashed through his mind. The legilimens had been necessary to save Minerva's life, but he wished with all of his might that there had been another way. Legilimens opened up too many doors better left closed. When casting the spell one did not simply read the subject's mind—merely viewing their thoughts and memories. No one did not read the mind, one _raped_ it. The spell caused the Caster to feel as well, to truly relive and experience the events with the subject. He had cast legilimens many times over his long life; in the two previous wars and again in the current one. He had had to use it for questioning subjects on trial before the Wizengamot and occasionally for testing the loyalty of a new member of the Order of the Phoenix. He had always treated the spell with the utmost caution and respect; only using it as a last resort—only when absolutely necessary.

Minerva, on the other hand, despised the enchantment, seeing it as the ultimate intrusion and invasion upon privacy. She conceded reluctantly that its use was sometimes called for, but she cringed whenever it was used by someone other than her husband, knowing full well that others did not always use the gleaned information as honorably as he did. Even in her days as an auror, she had refused to learn the skill, though she was more than proficient in occlumency. Now that he had experienced first hand the way Voldemort had used it to torture her, he found himself agreeing with her objections whole-heartedly.

He had seen through her eyes and felt through her nervous system the torments her persecutors had inflicted so cruelly upon her. How had she survived? How in Merlin's name? She was even stronger than Albus had known she was. He found himself once again in awe of his wife, so aptly named for the Roman legend of old. But her strength was gone now; it had waned and gone out. She was broken. Tom Riddle, god damn him, had broken the goddess of wisdom. Albus needed a way to put her back together again.

Every time he closed his eyes he felt the crack of leather ripping through her skin, her weak and desperate voice pleading for mercy, begging him to stop. And the greater pain and humiliation when Lucius had stopped, only to punish her brutally and violently as she lay quivering on the heavy oaken desk, washed in hot puddles of her own blood. The Cruciatus twenty-one times. Twenty-one. He swore loudly again, and tried vainly to control the shaking of his body and stamp down the wrath burning within him.

These were only the tip of the iceberg, only the thoughts that were currently under the surface of her mind, lurking just below the nightmare that had seemed to her such a reality that she had forfeited her will to live. What else—_what bloody else_—had she endured?

When he had pulled himself together enough to return to the hospital wing, he found he couldn't bear to look at her. The sight of her enraged him and filled him with hate, and that was not what Minerva needed. She needed him to be solid and calm. He cursed himself vehemently over and over again. He seemed to be letting her down at every turn. Terrified she would have another swift decline like the one she had experienced during the lung regrowth procedure he had persuaded Poppy to keep her another night in the hospital wing.

That troubled him as well. She was so—so _changed_. He knew she would be of course, she must be. No one could endure what she had and come through unscathed. But Minerva seemed to have really, truly, fundamentally changed. And it frightened him. She was so complacent! His jaw had dropped in astonishment when Poppy had told him of her reaction to being informed that she could not return to teaching until after the Christmas holidays. That was ten weeks away! Both he and the healer had steeled themselves for a fight, Minerva having an infamous reputation for being the absolute _worst_ patient ever. His Minerva would have argued and fought that order tooth and nail, and he would have had to practically restrain her by petrification to carry it out. Only last year he had had to use a binding spell to tie her in bed mere days after being hit by four full blasted stunning spells and suffering third degree burns to her chest and losing much of the use of her leg. The staff at St. Mungo's had released her weeks before they medically should have, and only then because they seemed to fear for their safety.

But yesterday, when Poppy had conceded reluctantly to keep her another night in the hospital wing and in the process broken her earlier promise to let her return to her private chambers, Minerva had said nothing, had not even questioned. Indeed, the only time Minerva had put up any fight at all was before Poppy had administered the sleeping draught. And 'fight' was not an appropriate word. Minerva had _begged_ her.

She wasn't getting better, if anything she was getting worse. The milestones she had seemingly achieved the day before had slipped away. Yesterday, she had received visitors, she had corrected essays, and she had attempted to eat a bit. Today, she had refused all company save Poppy, who made frequent checks on her friend and patient. She was not eating, and Albus knew she had not slept another wink since the nightmare fiasco that had almost claimed her life.

The look in her eyes haunted him. Poppy could not allow her to use the floo to return to her room, fearing it would be too physically taxing, and they couldn't very well parade her through the public hallways in her present condition. So Albus had taken her by floo, holding her very still in his arms while his body took all of the spinning and rush that assaulted them as they moved the short distance of the hospital wing to Gryffindor Tower. He had lifted her carefully, wanting nothing more than to clutch her closely against him, to feel the warmth of her body fast against his. But as he had lifted her, she had inhaled sharply, her face going white, her eyes taking on a glassy sheen. Guilt had washed over him, hammering into his heart, and he had swiftly shifted her away from him, holding her rigidly in his arms as far from his chest as possible.

She had said nothing when he deposited her carefully onto the settee in their chamber, but he was aware of her watching him nervously the rest of the morning. How it killed him to see her this way, this shadow of the woman that he loved. The more he sat observing her from the corner of his eye, the more they danced nervously and uncomfortably around one another the more helpless and angry he became. After the legilimens episode, he understood her terror. And understanding it made him feel even more powerless to assuage it. And blast it, the more he seethed below the surface, the more withdrawn Minerva became. There was nothing for it, but to leave. He yearned to be there next to her, but he was only making things worse.

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Minerva felt the smooth worn stones of the passage wall, leaning against them for support as she walked. There was no light, but she didn't need light. She knew where she was going, and the familiar darkness comforted her. She couldn't stay in her room any longer. She had to get out, release some of the anxiety bottled up within her. Before she exploded.

She couldn't stand to be alone with her thoughts; she was no longer comfortable in her own skin. She sought release, but from what or whom she did not know. No, she thought, that was wrong. She did know. She needed release from her own prison, but it was how to obtain the pardon that stumped her.

She had been so foolish to think that sharing living space with Albus would solve everything. She wanted to be alone with him, to look in his eyes and beseech his forgiveness, to undo all of the hurt she had caused him. Damned foolish, she chastised herself; Albus couldn't stand the sight of her.

He hadn't wanted her back. She had overheard his conversation with Poppy after the legilimens. He said he wasn't "comfortable" having her back. After the legilimens, she could not blame him. What had he seen? Everything? She didn't think so, the session wasn't long enough. But whatever it was, it would be enough. Any episode would be sufficient to place the look of repulsion in his normally tender blue eyes.

He had carried her through the floo to their rooms, and she had not missed the anger that passed over his visage as he had shifted her stiffly in his arms as far from him as possible. She hadn't helped matters. As he had lifted her up, his hands had skimmed the gashes on her back, still swollen and festered from the constant reopening by Tom's less than sterile fingers. But it seemed Albus had forgotten the welts, covered as they were by her gown. But she had reminded him with her weakness and by so doing had placed yet another layer of brick on the wall erected between them.

In the privacy of their chamber he had sat remotely across the room from her, watching her warily in silence. She had planned at the very least to speak with him, seek his forgiveness, but the sight of the Daily Prophet lying on the table before her stopped her cold. Picking it up with shaking hands, she closed her eyes in disbelief of the large picture and headlines that covered the entire front page. It was a picture of she and Albus at the Yule Ball taken two years previous during the Tri Wizard Tournament. It was titled "**Secrets at Hogwarts: the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress Sharing More than Friendship and School Duties"**. She opened her eyes again, forcing herself to take in the rest of the article. The picture changed, showing a very young Minerva and Tom Riddle mid dance at yet another school function, taken some five decades before. There were several editions of the Prophet stacked under the one she now read, all with pictures of her on the cover.

**Minerva McGonagall, respected Transfiguration Mistress Taken Prisoner by the Dark Lord. Minerva McGonagall, Scandalous affair with You-Know-Who During War with Grindelwald. Minerva McGonagall: Secret Wife of Albus Dumbledore. Minerva McGonagall Rescued from the Clutches of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Still in Critical Condition. **The titles and captions leapt out at her. Their secret was out. All of these years of pretending, and their secret was now public. She dropped the pile of papers to the floor, a trembling hand distractedly rubbing at her temple. She dared a glance at Albus, who quickly turned his head.

Of course they would know. Tom had gleefully announced to his Death Eaters that she had gone 'whoring after Albus Dumbledore', knowing full well that their hatred for Albus would fuel their abuse of her. One of them would have released this news to the Prophet with Tom's blessing, anything to tarnish her blameless reputation and/or lower the morale of those who remained in his opposition.

Everyone knew. The thought tasted bitter in her mouth as she continued to follow the dim corridor. All the years she had dreamed of the day that she and Albus could be free of the deception, could behave openly as they did behind closed doors—and to be exposed like this—in this manner, yet another blunder Albus couldn't forgive. A deep shame crept over her as she walked. Everyone knew: she had been held captive by Lord Voldemort for seven days. And everyone knew what happened to women unlucky enough to be held by Death Eaters and not killed immediately. No wonder Albus couldn't look at her.

She came to the end of the passageway. It opened into a small, round room, at the base of the tower near the dungeons. She sank wearily down on the stone bench, glad to be hidden in the shadows cast from the high windows far above her. She had taken refuge in the gloom here many times past. No one, not even the marauders or the Weasley twins knew of the secret passage leading from Gryffindor Tower to the dungeons, closely proximate to the Slytherin Common rooms. She and Tom had used it for their trysts all those years ago, he being the heir of Slytherin (then unknown to her) was aware of all the castle's secret byways. She and Albus also used the privacy of the unknown corridor throughout their long years of marriage, thankful for being able to walk hand in hand unseen, stolen kisses out of the watchful eyes of staff and students.

She could only rest a moment here, she must get back before either Albus or Poppy discovered her absence and raised the alarms. But Merlin, she was exhausted, not to mention the painful echoes of her ravished nervous and muscular system crying out at her. There were things she needed to work out in her mind before she went back to face the others, and this room, the meeting of her darkest and lightest days seemed the likely place.

Troubling her at the moment was the question most painful. Why had Albus saved her? He seemed not to want her at all, now that she was back. Of course, there was the fact that he was Albus Dumbledore. The most powerful wizard since Merlin, who always did the right thing. How would it have looked if he had left his school Deputy at the hands of evil? Especially now that the world knew she was his wife. One could not leave one's wife to be raped and tortured and killed, when one was Albus Dumbledore.

That made sense, but she knew Albus better than that. He cared little what others thought of him. Indeed his infamous eccentricity proved that. He would not have saved her merely to save face. Risking Harry's life and that of all most the entire Order proved that. She wasn't worth that. One's reputation wasn't worth that.

He couldn't have feared she was leaking information. She was not secret keeper for anything. Tom knew they were married, he knew she was a member of the Order. He couldn't have tortured anything out of her that he did not already know.

No, he wanted her back, she decided. Albus loved her, she knew that. But he had been unprepared to learn of her ill use. How could he want her after seeing her? How could anyone? And he was Albus Dumbledore. He was the most respected, revered wizard of the age. To think that he could touch her, look at her, want her after knowing the filth that had been inside her. Now that he had been in her mind, had seen the visions the coffin was sealed.

She was supposed to die. She had accepted it. Death would have been better. Albus would not have the shame and stigma branding him then. A tortured, ravaged wife brought sympathy when she was dead. When she remained alive, she invited scorn and disdain.

She had looked at herself in the mirror today, the pale skeleton marred with livid welts and bruises stared back at her blankly. She would hide them, she told herself. If he didn't see the evidence, perhaps he could at least bear the sight of her long enough for her to speak to him. She only wanted his forgiveness, and then she could leave him in peace.

She selected the smallest of robes that she owned, and still it hung on her as a mother's gown will upon a child playing dress up. She had a bag of make up. She concealed every visible line, covered the dark circles under her eyes, rouged her lips and cheeks. She was not allowed a wand yet; the energy magic required too draining of her limited strength, and so a concealment charm was out of the question. But as she gazed at her finished project she thought she hadn't done too badly. She had combed her hair and pinned it loosely out of her face. She might look pretty, were it not for the hollow gauntness of her eyes and cheeks.

She positioned herself in the armchair facing the door and waited for him. She felt young and silly; she had never been one for contrivances, most certainly not regarding her beauty or ability to ensnare a man. She had never felt that she was in the least beautiful, and until today it hadn't mattered to her for a long time. Not since she had first contrived to make Professor Dumbledore notice her, all those many years ago. She sat fidgeting nervously with the skirt of her robe, going over and over in her mind the conversation she wished to have with him.

When the door had finally opened and he had appeared, he looked at her, seemingly stunned for a moment. She could feel the heat of embarrassment flush over her and she averted her eyes. When she again met his gaze, she had started to speak, "Albus—"

But he was speaking too, looking not at her at all, but rather at a point on the wall above her. "I'm sorry I disturbed you, Minerva. I'll only be a minute, then I must be off to meet with the Governor's, we are deciding what to do about young Draco Malfoy."

"Oh." Was all she said, deflated. "I had hoped you might…." But she noticed he had turned his back to her and was rifling through a stack of parchment on the secretary near the door. A spark of courage flared within her, deep in the pit of her stomach, and she rose, painstakingly making her way to him. She reached out a hand, almost making contact with his shoulder, 'please stay', she meant to ask him. But he saw her and drew back.

"Minerva!" he said startled. "You should not be up my dear, come, sit." And he drew a chair to him quickly and positioned it behind her, and she sat obediently, heart breaking with disappointment. As he moved the chair into place, she noticed how carefully he kept from touching her, never quite looking at her. She sat looking hurt and feeling utterly destroyed. But Albus didn't notice, or if he did, he did not care. "I'll be back this evening. Get some rest." And he exited.

This had prompted her walk to the dungeons. What should she do? She would not stay and torment Albus with her presence. That she would not do. If he didn't want her—well, she had enough pride left to go. But where? She could go to McGonagall Manor, her family home in the highlands. Or she could go to the Dumbledore estates; both had been retained by the couple and used during holidays. Either place would be lonely, empty except for a faithful house elf. But here now with Albus in their home, she had never felt lonelier in her life. But she was afraid.

Tom was right, Albus Dumbledore was the only one who could protect her from him. And she was terrified to be away from that protection now that she was free from Riddle. How very un-Gryffindor. She was supposed to be strong and brave, her reputation was fierce and unwavering, a lioness worthy to be head of Godric Gryffindor's house. She found she was neither. She had had the courage and strength to go to Riddle once; to put herself in his hands—at his mercy. Once. But she had used up the entire reservoir of valor in the week following her trade. Tom would not sit by and do nothing, he would be actively seeking revenge, and it would be worse now that she had angered him. She couldn't leave Hogwarts. She was a coward, she thought bitterly. She was weak and helpless and she was afraid. Her hands clinched and her magic crackled around her in her despair, causing a surge of pain throughout her body, as the precious store of energy was forced from her. She leaned back against the cold stone, lost in thought.

Severus had watched her for sometime, through the window of the door on the other side of the room. He had been startled to see her there: indeed, he had never realized before that a door or window had been there at all. He had been passing by when he had heard a ripple of magic sizzle and pop behind a suit of armor. On closer investigation he found a very small stone window in what appeared to be a doorway seamless in the castle wall. Squinting into the dim light, he was shocked to find Minerva seated in the shadows of a small, round room. Not knowing whether to disturb her, he stood silently for a few moments, just watching. She looked deeply troubled, and Severus wondered what the hell she was doing so far from her quarters and the hospital wing, when she wasn't supposed to be out of bed. Reluctantly he decided to interrupt her thoughts, feeling that he should offer assistance if needed.

"You are dangerously close to Slytherin territory for a Gryffindor." he remarked dryly, causing her to look up sharply, obviously surprised to see him there.

She sighed, and answered pensively, "You forget that I came dangerously close to spending my life with a Slytherin."

'Touché". He was quiet for a moment, an awkward silence passing between them. He cleared his throat. "I was unaware that there was a room or passageway here." He glanced pointedly at the dark tunnel behind her.

"As are most others. It quite conveniently leads to Gryffindor Tower." Her green eyes seemed to glow in the dimness of the light, a connection with her animagus.

"May I ask what you are doing here, Minerva?" Severus asked, no longer wanting to make this uncomfortable small talk.

She hesitated a moment, deciding how to answer. "Sorting things out, I suppose. Trying to determine what comes next."

Severus nodded.

"I am afraid I am not so strong as other's give me credit for." Her voice dropped as she quietly added, "As you well know."

She was alluding to the night he had spent with her after Lucius Malfoy. He could hear the shame in her voice; indeed they had not been alone since he had witnessed her break down. "Quite the contrary, Professor McGonagall. I have found that the credit other's attribute does not do you justice."

She was deeply touched. "Thank you, Professor Snape." The formality seemed right.

He turned to go, leaving her again with her thoughts, but her voice stopped him.

"Severus?"

"Yes?" he answered, his hand on the door handle.

"I have a wee confession to make, lad." A wan smile lit her face. "I find that I cannot make it back to my chamber without assistance."

He offered her his arm, which she took gratefully. With his left arm he drew his wand, casting 'lumos' and with the right he supported her weight as they made their way back to Gryffindor Tower.

Severus left her at her door; leaving her feeling relieved to be back where she could sit and rest, and not just a bit lonely at his departure. As she entered the sitting room she shared with Albus she was startled to find two house elves going through Albus's things, placing some books and robes in a trunk. Upon seeing her they halted their work. "Missus Deputy, we is so glad to have yous safe back at Hogwarts, we are," the little elf squeaked up at her with a smile.

"Thank you," Minerva said sincerely. "Might I ask what you are doing with the Headmaster's belongings?"

"We is moving them to another chamber. Headmaster Dumbledore, he says we is to move him to private quarters near his office."

"He did?" Minerva grasped the handle of the door for support.

"Yes Missus Deputy, he did. We is almost finished."

Minerva swallowed the knot rising from the pit of her stomach. So this is it then, she thought. Albus really didn't want her. She steadied herself and in the most even voice she could manage said, "I wonder if you might come back and finish later? You see I am very tired, and need to rest." The truth was, she suddenly needed to be alone. Totally alone.

"Yes of course!" squeaked the little elf again, still beaming up at Minerva happily, glad to have their beloved Deputy Headmistress back safe and sound.

"Perhaps you could finish in the morning? I need to lie down for a while."

The elves vanished with a "crack", but Minerva did not lie down. She stood in the center of the room, shaking, a violent torrent of tears racking her body, blurring her vision as she gazed upon the room filled with the life that she and Albus had made together. Photographs, anniversary gifts, souvenirs from holidays abroad were displayed upon the mantle, bookshelves, desks and tables. Her simple, rather austere furniture mixed in with his overstuffed busily colorful armchair and sofa. He could keep it, she decided. He could keep all of it. She could relocate elsewhere in the castle, or off the school grounds entirely if he preferred it.

A sense of despair overwhelmed her, over-powering her other senses. She took in the image of the emaciated, broken woman before her in the floor length-dressing mirror. Gaunt, hollow eyes stared back at her, the yellow-green across her cheek casting a faint shadow under her makeup. Absently she fingered a strand of her hair, curling it around in a dark spiral.

Her heart was broken: as shattered as the woman's reflection before her. It was a piercing, throbbing ache, and she felt as though it might split her in two. She grabbed a large moonstone paperweight from off of the writing desk and hurled it at the mirror. It cracked in a spider web pattern, but did not shatter. She _wanted_ it to shatter; to smash it into pieces just as she had been. Picking the stone up from the ground she pounded it against the glass again and again, until the shards of it left the frame, lying scattered around the base. The thin slivers sliced through her skin as she pounded, and when she was finished she drew her hand before her oblivious to the pulsing pain, turning it from side to side, watching in fascination as the blood ran in rivulets across her palm, dripping onto the stone floor.

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Albus approached the door hesitantly. He had told the House elves to move some of his things into another chamber temporarily. He hoped it was only temporary. But despite moving quarters, there was a growing trepidation he felt in leaving Minerva alone, and he needed to check in on her, to see with his own two eyes that she was there and okay, before retiring elsewhere for the night.

He gave the password and the door swung open. A blast of freezing cold air assaulted him. "Minerva, what in Merlin's name! It is positively glacial in here!" he strode into the room and stopped. She was standing with her back to him, leaning into the stone sill of an open window. Occasionally a swirl of freezing rain and snow would drift in from the gale outside, but she didn't seem to notice. There was no fire, and the temperature inside the room had to be comparable to the frigid night outside.

His gaze swept the room, and he saw the empty shell of their dressing mirror, creaking on its hinges in the wind. Brittle shards of glass glittered reflectively on the floor around the base; a dark red trail of blood smattered the carpet and led to the window where Minerva stood.

"Minerva?" Albus called to her gently, "What happened to the mirror, love?" He had an idea that _she_ had happened to it, but he wanted her to speak, he wanted to hear her voice, a deep alarm was sounding inside him, and knowing that she could speak might calm some of the bells.

She didn't answer. It was if she was wholly unaware that he had entered the room at all. She just leaned into the open window, her head resting against one side of the wall, her hair and sleeves fluttering in the arctic night air.

He was about to approach her so that he could close the window when her voice stopped him frozen where he stood.

"Why did you bother to save me, Albus?" her voice was flat and empty, and so soft he almost thought he was mistaken that she had spoken at all. She didn't seem to want him to answer, because she continued, "I couldn't possibly have given him information, I am not secret keeper."

"Minerva—" He stood there, feeling cold and numb.

"Why, Albus?"

She turned finally to face him, and the sight of her knocked the breath right out of him. She was so drawn and frail, the robes she wore draped on her body in voluminous folds from the weight she had lost. She had put on makeup, so that the bruises were hidden, but dark streaks of mascara stained the length of her cheeks, pale despite the obvious rouge she had applied. And her right hand and wrist, what he could see of it beneath the tapered sleeve was swollen and bloody. He searched for words, but found none that seemed adequate.

"You should have left me." She said the words simply, without accusation, without anger.

"Minerva, how could you even think I would leave you there? With him?" Albus answered, finally finding his voice.

"I would rather have died, than to lose your love." The ache in her voice accosted him full force, as if she had slapped him across the face. He stood stunned. How could Minerva think he didn't love her? "Minerva, how can you say such a thing? Of course I still—"

"You haven't bloody touched me in three days!" she snapped fiercely. The words seemed to snap something inside her as well, and she collapsed into sobs.

"Minerva—"

"He said that you wouldn't…." she choked out between the heaves of tears wrenching through her body. "He said you wouldn't…that you wouldn't want me…but I told him he was wrong. I told him no, that you loved me—that it didn't matter what he said or did. But he was right. Oh Merlin, he was right!" Any other words were incoherent as she sobbed violently, her body convulsing with the force of her sorrow.

Albus said nothing, but walked softly past her and closed the window, driving out the cold air and icy rain. He drew his wand and lit a fire in the grate. She didn't struggle or pull away as he lifted her gently into his arms and carried her to the loveseat near the fire. He drew a heavy woolen blanket in green tartan plaid around her before he seated himself, holding her very tightly cradled across his lap. He held her in this manner as she cried; her head buried into his shoulder, his chin resting atop her head, the whiteness of his beard a stark contrast to her raven hair. He didn't move or speak until her tears began to subside and he could feel her finally begin to relax into him.

When at last she calmed, he took his handkerchief and lifted her face, wiping away all of the makeup and rouge with her tears. "Albus don't," she whispered, her eyes not meeting his.

She tried to drop her head away from him, but he held her chin firmly in place and continued removing the mask she had applied earlier. When he was finished he sat her up slightly, so that he could look directly into her face. She closed her eyes, turning her face away from him, fear displayed plainly across her features. Fear of rejection. Very carefully he shifted her towards him, taking her face gently in both of his hands. And then he kissed her forehead, his lips trailing lightly down the cut that was only now beginning to heal. He kissed each of her closed eyelids, and the yellow mark across her cheekbone. And then his lips met hers, as soft as whispers against her mouth. He continued this across her undamaged cheek, along her jaw line and neck until his mouth hovered just above her ear. "Minerva, there is absolutely nothing Tom Riddle, or any one—could do to you, that would make me not want you anymore." He spoke this very softly, one arm wrapped protectively around her, holding her against him.

She opened her eyes, and glanced up at him, the large emerald pools searching his, looking for any sign of deception. He held her gaze a moment, and then said, "I saved you, Minerva, because I can't live without you. Because you are my life, and because I love you."

"Oh Albus, I thought—" but he silenced her, continuing on.

"My wife is a goddess, remember? She can not be tarnished by human hands." And he kissed her again, parting her lips this time, long and slow, savoring the moment; savoring her. Very tentatively she kissed him back. When she drew away, she laid her head back against him, resting it in the curve of his neck and shoulder. Albus felt his eyes mist over, and he rocked her gently his heart overjoyed at the simple act of holding his wife again. He could feel some warmth return to her as the heat of the fire and the tightly woven yarn of the blanket surrounded them. They were silent for a long time, both relearning what it meant to be comfortable again in the other's embrace. When Albus thought that she had finally fallen asleep, Minerva began to speak softly, her voice timid but determined.

"Albus, I'm sorry for everything. I couldn't think of any other way. The children—well, I just couldn't bear it if he had—" she paused. "I knew it would hurt you, but I had to do it, I am so sorry, love."

"Min, it's all right, I understand."

"I knew Tom would accept my offer, he has been waiting for revenge all these many years. I thought after a few days torture he would kill me, and have done with it."

Albus cringed. She really had gone to Riddle fully expecting to die.

"It became quite clear that he had no intention of letting me die. He intended to break me instead." Her voice was small and far away, even to her own ears, and she didn't know why she was saying these things, she just felt they needed said. "He concocted this horrible game—that's what he called it, a game." She shuddered, and Albus tightened his hold of her, securing her more closely to him. "He wanted me to surrender to him, to—to—give myself to him. He…he…the Cruciatus, that was nothing."

"Minerva_—twenty-one times, _Merlin love, how did you survive_?" _His voice shook as he spoke. Nothing? How the bloody hell could she say it was nothing?

He felt her shake her head against him. "No. That was nothing." There was pain in her voice, deep and sharp, "He…Albus every night he—he—there was nothing I could do, I couldn't stop him—"

"Minerva—"

"And not only him. His Death Eaters, Albus," a tremor filled the words, "all of them, _all of them—_every last bloody one had a turn—and Lucius—oh god, Lucius—" she was crying again, her face turned into his beard, shaking against him, and he was grateful she could not see the tears running silently down his own cheeks. "He said it would stop—that he would make them stop, if only I would ask, and that it would be over—" the words were muffled against his chest as the words poured out in tumbles as she cried.

Albus kissed the top of her hair gently, wanting to stop her from putting herself through this hell, but feeling that she had need to rid herself of it, this toxic waste within her.

"The legilimens was the worst. He—all of my nightmares—over and over again, and he would change them—he planted things—you—over and over again, telling me I was worthless and a whore…"

"Oh love, I am sorry—I am so very sorry," he whispered.

"I fought him best I could for control, I told him you would never—but it got more difficult—physically, so that I couldn't keep him out of my thoughts. I resisted him, Albus, truly—I swear that I did, I swear it—" her voice rose in urgency for him to accept her words as truth, to believe that she held out as long as she could, and the need of it broke his heart. "I—the boy, Albus. Brian, the little muggle boy. I had to stop him from killing that boy—that's why, love, that's why….That's the only reason I did it—"

She was sobbing again, and Albus drew her into him with all his might, swaying with her from side to side, his hand stroking her hair, his mouth planting soft kisses as she cried against him, her chest heaving with her pain. He could feel her warring inside herself, deliberately calming, regaining control.

"Forgive me, Albus. Please, can you forgive me?" She pleaded with him, her voice fearful but with childlike hope.

"Yes, Minerva. Of course I forgive you, love. I forgive you for leaving me and hurting me by your absence. There is nothing else to forgive. What those bastards did to you, Min, was not your fault. I do not blame you, it only grieves me that you were left there and I was helpless to do anything about it. Can you forgive me for that? I am not sure that I can forgive myself."

Very slowly she pulled away from him enough to turn up her face and looked searchingly into his eyes. "You mean to say, that knowing all of that, you…you aren't ashamed of me? That you still can want me after all of the filth that has been inside me? Albus, I am so ashamed. Everyone…knows."

He smiled at her, tracing her lips with his finger. "What everyone knows, is how brave and selfless you are, and I am proud that the world finally knows that you are my wife."

She blushed, a relieved, girlish smile lighting her face. "Albus?" she asked shyly, her eyes not quite meeting his, "can you sleep with me tonight?" She was quite afraid he might say no.

"Of course, love. Let's get you off to bed." He lifted her up, and carried her through the doors into the adjoining room, leaving the shattered glass and broken mirror to be righted in the morning. He transfigured her robes into a soft, warm gown, and climbed into bed beside her.

She seemed to hesitate as he drew the covers up around them, and he was afraid perhaps they were rushing ahead too quickly. "Minerva, love if you don't want me here, I can sleep in the chair, it's no bother—"

"No, it isn't that." She seemed to consider her words carefully, unsure if she should speak at all. Finally she said, "Albus, I don't think I can—I mean, I'm not sure if I'm ready yet to—"

It dawned on him what she was trying to say. "Don't fear about that, love. You take as long as you need, until you are ready. We have plenty of time left for that."

She smiled gratefully at him, snuggling into his open arms, her head using his chest as a pillow. Her exhausted body fell quickly to sleep, deep and dreamless for the first time in the last two weeks. Albus gazed down on her as she slept, wishing he could preserve this moment, making it last longer than the few hours until dawn.

A candle flickered in the darkened doorway and he saw Poppy Pomfrey entering quietly to make her last check of the night on Minerva. Her eyes lit and a questioning smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she saw Albus propped up against the headboard, Minerva sound asleep in his arms.

Albus returned her smile and nodded. Speaking very softly so as not to wake the witch in his arms, he said, "Poppy, we have had quite a breakthrough. However, there is some damage to Minerva's right hand, if you can take a look."

Poppy drew back the covers slightly, revealing Minerva's cut, swollen hand lying flat against Albus's chest. "Yes," she said quietly, I saw the mirror, or rather what's left of it." Very gently she lifted Minerva's hand, casting a wordless spell, the wand emanated a soft blue light, and the hand healed instantly. She returned it to its place below the Headmaster's shoulder. She did not stir. Poppy shot Albus a knowing glance, without a doubt her friend was finally on the mend, though both knew healing would not be easy. But Minerva was strong, and she would emerge stronger than ever. "I'll check back in the morning," she whispered, taking her leave.

In Dumbledore's arms, Minerva slept. Free of Tom Riddle.


	25. Chapter 25 Epilogue

Epilogue

Albus watched from the chair as Minerva nervously ran her hand over her hair, once again fashioned in its customary bun. She was frowning into the mirror on her dressing table, her foot tapping absently.

"Min, you are fidgeting," he observed from his safe position across the bedroom.

"Nonsense, Albus. You know I do not fidget!" she snapped distractedly.

"Of course not, dear, how silly of me," his eyes twinkled merrily as he noticed she instantly dropped her hand to her side and her foot stilled. Today was the first day of classes following the Christmas Holidays, and subsequently Minerva's first day teaching since her return from captivity at the Riddle Mansion, and she was understandably on edge.

He moved to stand behind her, placing an affectionate kiss atop her head. "You look quite lovely this morning, as always," he said, his arms circling around her from behind.

She smiled at him in the mirror, her hand moving up to rest upon his. Indeed, the woman whose reflection gazed back at them was quite lovely, her cheeks filled out with a bit of color, all signs of abuse completely faded and invisible. She had almost returned to her previous weight, and her normally slender size was still a vast improvement on the frail, skeletal form she had been a few weeks ago. "I suppose I am a bit tense this morning. I'm sorry."

"I understand completely, my dear, but you have nothing to worry about. The students will be thrilled to see you." He took her arm and helped her from the chair, leading her to the door.

"I'm not so sure about that," she murmured, as Albus closed the door to their chambers and they began the long walk to the Great Hall for breakfast.

"They will be, love; that is they will be until you assign them an enormous amount of homework as always, on their first day back." He was trying to keep the conversation light, but he could feel her quickened pulse as they strolled arm in arm, his hand holding tightly to hers.

It was silly to be so anxious, she told herself. After all, she had taught for forty years, and a mere absence of two short months was no reason to get jittery. She hadn't been around anyone since her return to Hogwarts, save Poppy and Albus and a few of the Order members. Albus had insisted they visit Arthur and Molly on Christmas Day, to get her used to being around people again, and she had been able to relax after a time, and thoroughly enjoyed herself. But she had not yet faced the public at large, and the embarrassment and shame surrounding her very public week in the hands of the enemy seethed below the surface of her normally composed demeanor.

As they approached the staff doors to the Great Hall, Albus stopped, allowing her a moment to calm her nerves. He smiled at her, and she returned it tentatively. And then Albus Dumbledore watched in fascination, as once again he observed his wife steel herself, drawing on her inner strength, visibly transforming into the stern and serene Professor McGonagall that students and adults alike feared to cross. She nodded to him and began to stride toward the door, when he stopped her by clearing his throat. She looked at him, puzzled, and then he said, "Care to take my arm, _Mrs. Dumbledore_?"

Her face lit as she took hold of his proffered arm and they went through the doors together, taking their traditional places at the head of the staff table. Minerva held her head high, and forced herself to refrain from licking her lips that now seemed to have gone dry as hot desert sand. A hush fell over the crowded hall, as The Headmaster helped his Deputy into her seat. Albus did not release her hand, but rather held it visibly atop the table.

"I am delighted to announce that Professor McGonagall will be resuming her classes today," he said, his voice carrying over the room.

"Thank Merlin," Severus whispered dryly, "I don't think I could stand to teach her bloody first years Transfiguration one more day, little idiots can't even turn a match stick into a needle…" But his voice was drowned out by thunderous applause as the students leapt to their feet, cheering and catcalling loudly. The staff joined them, and Hagrid blew his nose into an enormous handkerchief: the sound rising above the cacophony of clapping hands and stomping feet.

Minerva felt her own eyes mist over, and with the slightest waver in her voice, said, "Thank you. It's quite good to be back." Breakfast appeared on the plates before them and Albus took his seat beside her.

"You see, I told you there was nothing to be worried about," still not releasing her hand. The noise of the hall returned to its normal din, as everyone went about the task of consuming their sausages and eggs and toast.

Minerva ate in silence, listening contentedly to the chatting going on around her, as the teachers discussed their duties and concerns for the upcoming term. It struck her that she had never before appreciated the comfort and familiarity of the morning routine, and she was happy to be back among the normal hubbub of Hogwarts. She was glad to be home.

The mail came, owls swooping in, dropping their packages and letters on the tables below. Once again a silence fell over the Great Hall, eerie this time, as a large black bird flew swiftly overhead through the center aisle, straight for the middle of the staff table. A raven. It perched on the table in front of Minerva, and she took with trembling hand a letter from its beak. There was no mistaking who the letter was from. The raven flew off, leaving a deafening quiet in its wake.

"Albus," she whispered faintly, I can't open it here—in front of the students—" but Albus was already helping her to rise, so that they could hear its' contents in private.

But the seal exploded, the letter rising into the air out of her hands, and short screams burst out randomly from the students below as the sound of Lord Voldemort's terrible voice rang out:

"_Minerva, my love, I trust you have been waiting to hear from me. I am sorry that my correspondence was delayed, but I thought it best to give you time to recover from the festivities we enjoyed during your stay._

_"Mark my words, our game isn't finished quite yet. There will be another chance to play; and this time you will not find the rules so easy. Indeed I look forward to our next encounter, and anticipate that it will be sooner than you think—"_

The parchment burst into flames with a loud roar, causing Minerva to jump back, startled. She turned to find Albus standing calmly next to her, his wand drawn. Around them stood Professor Flitwick, Sprout, Snape and Madame Pomfrey, all with wands drawn.

Down below her many of her Gryffindors stood also, wands drawn, pointing to the now empty air where the letter had been. Minerva felt a warmth spread inside her, as she realized that the explosion had been caused by multiple wands; their spells striking the object simultaneously. Albus once again pulled her chair out from the table, and she sank into it gratefully.

Severus cleared his throat and sat saying, "Perhaps now we can get on with breakfast without further interruption." And that is exactly what they did.

The end.


End file.
